Crimes of Passion
by All3Unforgivables
Summary: Draco Malfoy lost his family, his dignity, and his humanity during the Dark Lord's rise to power. The only thing he couldn't stand to lose was something that was never his to take. With no one left to mourn him, his disappearance goes unexplored. But angels like Hermione Granger do not go missing without notice. D/H OOC, AU. Very mature themes. Renamed and Reposted.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **You might remember this story posted on my other profile by a different name. I pulled it because I was way over my head with FF and wasn't sure if I would ever be able to finish it. I didn't want anyone else to get invested in something that might not go anywhere. I happened to have some rare free time and some muse for this piece. It is now finished. Some of the chapters were perviously beta'ed, some are not. I'm going to post a few chapters at a time and look over them to try to weed out some of the typos but I'm not great at seeing my own mistakes so I apologize if you still have to read through a few.**

 **The story should be completely posted, start to finish by the middle of next month if you want to wait it out and read it all at once.**

 **It is pretty dark, various triggery themes. It is not my intension to glorify certain unacceptable choices or behaviors. I am simply writing a story about fallible characters and twisted circumstances.**

 **The story more or less follows the cannon Harry Potter universe with small difference, then completely varies after the events in DH.**

 **THIS STORY IS NOT TOLD IN** **CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER. These Chapters are short glimpses and jump around. Sorry if this confuses anyone. It is intentional and just the style I wanted to try out for this plot.**

 **Please feel free to contact me with any questions.**

CHAPTER 1

 ** _Chicago, IL._**

The imperial blonde stood beside a private hospital bed, brimming with masculine accomplishment as his usually hard grey eyes took in the stunning, exhausted woman between the stark sheets. After nine painstaking months of a saint-like endurance, she had finally purged his tiny son from the safety of her womb and was nursing the hungry babe at her breast.

Until three hours previous, the young man had cared for only one thing in this large, cruel world; had only one pulse of light in the darkness.

Now he had two.

With gentleness most would assume was beyond him, he brushed the damp, curling hair away from his wife's lovely face. Only at his touch did she manage to peel her eyes away from the lazily suckling newborn. They were flooded with the same gut-wrenching adoration that had been pounding in his chest since he'd watched the woman he loved laboring to bring his progeny into the world.

The small, tired smile she beamed at him took his breath away.

"Only hours old and he's already nearly as gluttonous as his father," she laughed like a bell, lifting the arm that wasn't busy holding the child to her and running the back of her finger across the velvet-soft, sweet smelling skin of his chubby cheek.

Her stoic husband's thin lips twitched with amusement at the sight of the little tyke's mouth moving with gusto around his mum's nipple, trying with all his might to get more than the meager colostrum her newly producing breasts were giving him.

"You did well, wife," he praised dryly, his version of playful teasing. She rolled her honey colored eyes, trying her very best not to smirk. The devilishly handsome blonde shot her a wink before his features smoothed with sincerity. "I mean it, dove. He's a perfect little specimen," he said thickly, reverent gaze on the most precious gift anyone had ever given him.

She blushed under his genuine appreciation. The truth was that there was nothing in her power to provide that she would ever deny him. The gorgeous girl would bear him a dozen babies if it meant he'd always be this happy.

"Of course you'd thinks so, Draco, you vain man," she tittered, "He already looks _exactly_ like you. I'd never seen such light hair until I met you, love."

He puffed to his impressive height with paternal pride. His son was the vision of a Malfoy, the culmination of centuries of impeccable breeding. "Fair skin and hair runs in my family. He looks like me just as I looked like my father, and his father before him…"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could realize his mistake. Draco _didn't_ make mistakes, had never in his years of meticulous layers of deceit let something slip unintentionally. Not even the birth of his first child was a reasonable excuse for the variance. Such carelessness could cost him everything. _Everything_.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Her husband _never_ spoke of his family, clammed up the moment they were mentioned. After three years of marriage she barely knew anything about them. With her parents long buried after a car accident, and his mother and father lost in a house fire just before they'd met, the couple was an island. It was he and she against the world.

 _Well_ … now they were three.

She sprung on the rare opportunity, thinking maybe new found fatherhood was causing him nostalgia.

"He… He still needs a name, love," his wife noted softly, peering up at him as he expertly hid his sudden spike of stress, "If you want to name him… after your father…"

" _No_ ," Draco barked instantly, eyes flashing. "He's _my son_. He's innocent and unblemished… our future. I'd never taint him with the rubbish we left behind in London," he vowed, tone as hard as steel.

For a moment, Hermione felt a jolt of fear at the harsh edge in her partner's voice. She'd heard it only when he was in his office and didn't know she was near enough to hear—his reputation as a reputable businessmen driven from his no-nonsense demeanor—but he'd never, ever used it with her. He was unendingly tender to his cherished wife.

Draco watched as her arms tightened securely around their baby, a reactionary impulse to protect. His perfect features contorted in horror at his loss of control.

Pale lids clenched tightly and he took several calming breaths before addressing her again. He bent gracefully at the waist and pressed a smitten kiss on his son's tiny forehead, then another into his wife's wild locks. His heart returned to a much more manageable speed when she tipped her chin up and nuzzled against his cheek.

"Forgive me, dove," he implored her, never one for grand scenes.

The new mother, overflowing with Zen-like patience, shook her head in a gentle dismissal. "Nothing to forgive, Draco. I shouldn't have pushed."

She hadn't a clue what his childhood was like, nor did she plan on making a fuss about it if it caused an issue. Hermione loved the man he was _now_ , her sweet husband.

Draco sighed quietly and continued to watch his now sleeping boy. The feelings that swirled in his head when he took in his vulnerable little family were startling in their intensity. He'd kill to hang onto them, to keep them safe.

He already had.

As if sensing his dark thoughts and eager to bring him back to their cheerful moment, she placed her small hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're everything to me, Draco. I love you to distraction."

He knew he was everything to her.

He had made sure of it.

The man with too many secrets ran his lips across his wife's temple, taking in the very essence of her.

"As I love you, Mrs. Black."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

 ** _Chicago, IL_**

Draco shot through the richly decorated house like a bullet when he heard his wife's strangled call. There was a desperation in her soft cry that injected fear into the top of his spine. For the first time in years, he felt the impulse to yield his wand in their home.

He curved the thought instantly, leaving the piece of wood in the lining of his jacket, firmly out of sight.

Part of him was always waiting for danger to find his little strong hold of reprieve, forever ready for his demons to follow him, and in a way… they had. But when he rounded the corner of his son's nursery, his very _soul_ alight with panic, it was not haunting black cloaks that filled his vision.

" _Draco_ ," Hermione breathed, her bright eyes wet with disbelieving tears as she watched their infant son, her beautiful face a mixture of horror and awe.

The new father stood grimly as his happy baby boy giggled from his spot on the nursery carpet, levitating several of his toys around the room with a look of pure glee on his tiny pale face.

" _Bloody hell_ ," he muttered blackly. He had known this was going to be an issue, but had hoped with his precious little optimism that he would have more time before his son's unrestrained magic had an opportunity to manifest itself.

As a toy airplane went rocketing across the room to his son's best vocal impression of an exaggerated engine noise, the mighty wizard allowed himself a few moments of chest burning pride. His little boy, his flesh and blood, was going to be unbelievably powerful wizard.

It wasn't all around surprising, considering Hermione's innate greatness.

His gorgeous wife's sob brought him back to reality. "Draco, am I seeing things?" she whispered, voice unmistakably fragile, "Have I gone complete mad?"

"No," he told her simply, fascinated by her reaction. There was an ancient longing in her gaze, remembrance that not even he could take away, as she watched the first magical act she'd seen in years.

A dark potion was all that was needed to suppress her own abilities. A brew twice monthly, slipped lovingly and remorsefully into her tea, was the only necessity in order to insure her safety and their precarious existence in this ordinary world neither of them belonged to.

He could easily have given it to tiny Alexander as well, but such a block during a time of profound magical development would cripple him for the rest of his life. Draco found that he couldn't bring himself to do it, could absolutely not leave his beloved son a squib and deny him his fundamental birth right, no matter how dire the circumstances.

Sometimes, when there was a particularly close call and his nerves were shot, he'd wonder if perhaps they'd be better off living like animals in remote stretches of wilderness; the tactic of most others fighting for their lives during the reign of darkness.

But his heart deserved more than that. He wouldn't have her starving and dirty and constantly running for survival just so she could hang on to her magic—no matter what ridiculousness her Gryffindor pride would have compelled her to do.

It could not be helped. These things would happen.

The traumatized mother shrieked in despair when their child grew tired and abruptly allowed the objects to fall simultaneously to the floor with a jarring _thud_.

Hermione looked to her husband for strength, dread morphing her stunning features. "My God Draco, there's something wrong with my baby. There's something wrong with our son!"

The wizard dropped slowly to his knees beside her, gathering her small body into his arms and rocked her gently as she sobbed a wet spot into his fine linen shirt. Her pain was his own and he shared the burden without complaint.

This was his doing, after all.

With a heart as heavy as stone he pulled the long hidden tool out of it's place and held it to her temple as she was too distracted with hysterics to notice.

"Don't you fret, my little witch. Our son is exactly as he should be." He kissed the top of her head with all the love he held for the woman, a seemly endless amount. "Now I'm going to make you feel better, dove."

She barely had time to furrow her brow in confusion.

" _Obliviate_."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

 ** _Wiltshire, England. Malfoy Manor._**

The majestic witch did not make a single intentional sound as she was brutalized against the hard stone floor of her own manor; did not beg for mercy or reprieve like the other women that had come before her.

She was a pureblood female whose husband had just fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord… she knew better than anyone in the world that there was no compassion to be found among the Death Eaters.

To cry out in pain or humiliation was to excite them further.

 _No_. The monstrous screams, the _heartbreaking_ whines of agony that reverberated and amplified off the haunted walls, those were all coming from the throat of her struggling son.

He sounded for all the world like he was being burned alive as he watched Rodolphus, his mother's very own brother-in-law, take vile liberties with the most beautiful of the Black sisters.

It was Severus Snape's hex that had bound the hysterical boy to the spot, not out of spite, but in an effort to save his godson's life by keeping him from disobeying an order from the Dark Lord—an automatic death sentence when committed directly in front of the homicidal dark wizard.

Lucius' wife had been given to Lestrange fair and clear. No one dared intervene, though many looked on with lustful eyes. The ruthless head of the Malfoy house had made plenty of enemies in his brethren, and now that he'd gotten himself locked in Azkaban, they were all suddenly brave enough to seek retribution from his lovely pureblood mate.

Tears streamed like rivers down the young man's striking face. He howled out his anguish, a pain so profound it set a few of the less-hardened observers on edge. The Malfoy heir simply didn't _have_ such weakening emotions. Even at such a young age, Draco was the mirror of his heartless father.

Draco's granite eyes gazed up at the grotesque, snake-like figure of Voldemort. The filthy half-breed was sitting grandly on a raised platform as if he owned the decadent room around him; as if it didn't rightfully belong to the broken goddess being raped into the ground for his amusement and vendetta.

" _Please! I'll take it! I'll take it!"_ the seventeen year old roared at the full capacity of his lungs, not for the first time.

The proud aristocrat had never begged for a thing in his life, but now it was as if he couldn't stop. He wanted to hold out the unmarred flesh of his arm as an instant offering but was still bound by Snape's efforts. "I'll do _anything_. Just make him stop touching her."

He could barely hear the reply of his tormentor over the sounds of his own screams, had no control of the primitive calls for help escaping his mouth.

" _No_ w, Draco…" The Dark Lord's red slits glowed with delight. The boy could take an unforgivable like it was a child's stinging hex but force his mother to the floor and he was howling like a muggle dog. "You had your opportunity to achieve rank enough to save her, and still you chose not to take my mark. Since your sire is so obviously incompetent that he is unable to keep himself from being captured by the imbeciles at the Ministry, I think there is only you to blame for your mother's lack of acceptable protection in the manor."

"Don't get a vote if you never registered for the club!" Bellatrix cackled with terrible, manic laughter and was joined by a few others. The vicious witch looked as though she were having the time of her life. Bella had an innate love of blood and pain— and a one-sided rivalry with her perfect sister nearly as powerful in intensity.

She was much closer to Draco, needing to be in the thick of things. He took aim and spat at her face. "Get him off her! Get your disgusting, common husband off my mum," he snarled at her, "I swear on my life I'll kill you with my bare hands, you barren abomination."

Her wild dark eyes went exaggeratedly large with faux offense. The evil witch lifted her dirty hand to whip his saliva from its mark. "Why Draco, what a perfectly awful thing to say to your dear auntie!" Bella trilled, sickly sweet, " _Imagine_ , dying like a muggle…"

The potions master rolled his eyes, half tempted to release his body bind and show Bella just how much force the huge boy had trapped in his straining muscles. He'd rip her limb from limb.

Rodolphus groaned loudly from his place on the floor, pulling Narcissa's long blonde hair back to expose her elegant neck. "Wouldn't be 'minding me about my wife's dead womb right now, Malfoy. Your ol' dad's in for the long haul. I might make designs to barrow the working sister," he thrust hard into the witch, bruising her body on the cold marble beneath them. She closed her blue eyes distasteful but said nothing. "What do say 'Cissy? Bear me the heir your fucking parents tricked me out of?"

Severus sensed just in time what was going to happen and allowed Draco to bend his torso seconds before he spilled the contents of his stomach onto the floor at his feet. The young blonde sputtered and gagged, trying not to choke on his own bile while hyperventilating.

"Mum, I'm so sorry…" he panted, eyes burning with tears and sweat. " _So sorry_."

He hadn't taken the mark because of the complete control it gave its master over the wearer's life. Once that brand marked the skin there was no chance of escape or way to hide. He'd seen Death Eaters that had tried to cut off the flesh of their arm in an attempt to ignore a summon, the pain so agonizingly severe.

At the tender age of seventeen he was still considered young enough to be without The Mark. Draco had seen one horror too many, had been kicked around by their supposed liberator just a fraction too often to commit himself without further deliberation.

He could see now that it had been a mistake.

"Just go, Draco. You don't need to see this, darling," his mother's voice rang weakly, unable to look at him and barely audible over her attacker's pants and groans.

"That'ssss enough," the Dark Lord hissed, beyond his amusement and suddenly irate at seeing his intended new soldier fall apart with such lack of dignity. There was no room for this pathetic sight among his ranks. He wanted to create the perfect fighter, not a sniveling mess. Lucius was embarrassment enough to the mighty despot, getting himself arrested in the Department of Mysteries.

The room fell into an instant, heavy silence. Several dozen men shaking slightly as they recognized the edge in their master's voice. The tenor that spelled execution.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity to prove your use to me, Draco," the wizarding world's most merciless tormentor declared without room for argument, "But until then, I'm going to graciously bless you with the most important lesson you'll ever learn."

Wicked red eyes narrowed in on the boy 's only known weakness, he lifted an ebony wand and took aim as if it were as simple as breathing, "You are only as strong as those that can be used against you."

 _Avada Kedavra_."


	4. Chapter 4

_CHAPTER 4_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Seattle Washington_**

He _hated_ not knowing where she was.

The dull ache in his chest he experienced whenever she wasn't by his side, no matter how often or mundane the situation, felt distinctly like walking around without the purer half of his soul. Draco knew, with clear, bone-chilling certainty, that if there ever came a day when the two of them were separated, he'd be far better off dead than forced to trudge on without his treasured mate.

So, in some respects, his constant hovering and struggle to keep her close was a self preservation.

The anxious man found his wife perched on top of steep black rock from the stretch of beach outside their home, just barely far enough away from the shore to keep from getting wet when the waves broke violently against their coastal resistance. Her gorgeous locks whipped wildly around her as she gazed out into the monochromatic expanse.

The sheer gravity of the scene around her made the woman look frighteningly small, an insignificant dot on the landscape.

It was already bitterly cold out, as the fall seeped into winter early this year, and she wasn't dressed nearly as warm as he would have liked. Hermione started, just a little, when he walked up behind her and slipped his own large coat over her shoulders.

The beautiful girl hummed in appreciation as he wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, but continued to watch the water punish everything in its stormy path.

"You know how I feel about you coming out here alone this time of year, dove," he chastised her lightly, no real heat to his smooth voice. "You lose yourself staring at those waves. It makes me nervous."

Hermione laughed, the sound carrying in the breeze. It was so beautiful, so _his_. Draco didn't wish to share it with even the pesky sea birds that combed the rocks for small crabs several yards away.

"You make it sound like I'd simply wander in by accident, Draco."

"Sometimes it looks as though you might."

The small female giggled again and shook her head with indulgent exasperation. "I just like sitting out here. The sound… the power of the ocean, it makes me feel so _alive_. It makes me feel as though there are whole worlds out there I know nothing about," she turned her head back and up to look at his face searchingly, "Does that sound utterly ridiculous?"

He gazed down at his young wife with a pang of dread. Her light eyes were _so bright_ , so full of excitement. The difference made him realize how dim they sometimes grew when she'd spent too long cooped up behind the walls of their home, too long entertaining herself with things that were so far below her caliber of accomplishment.

Hermione Granger, the little muggleborn that came out of nowhere, was the most keen minded and gifted individual the wizarding world had seen in years. She was always meant to achieve greatness, to make discoveries and changes unlike any other, uninhibited by greed or useless tradition.

During the rise of darkness, a regime that would have plucked and trampled his brilliant flower as if she were the most offensive weed, Draco had taken it upon himself to hide her away. What his naive mind hadn't calculated was the toll that lack of sun would have on her delicate petals.

The pureblood wizard, accustomed to traditionally oppressed women, had taken a creature that was made for revolution and asked her to be content as a house wife. He kept her in a cage to which she hadn't the slightest idea she was confined to, hoping his love was enough to curve her frustration. And for the time being… it was.

He dipped low and pressed his lips against hers adoringly. "No, my darling. That doesn't sound ridiculous at all."

Encouraged by his appearance of sincerity, she attempted to broach a long-avoided conversation. "I was thinking… maybe I can get a little job in town," the beauty muttered, eyes scanning casually towards the horizon, "Nothing big. Just something to keep me busy while you're at work all day. Maybe in a book store… or the library?"

The pale blonde's daunting form went instantly ridged. Having Hermione at home while he was away was one thing, he had rigged the property with an insane amount of wards and protection. In the beginning, he had for months attempted to keep her from running even the smallest of errands without him to escort her. Even with the passing of a significant amount of time since he'd smuggled them into the United States, he still worried about her constantly.

Hermione, the way she was at present, could be in line at the super market with a pack of Death Eaters and have zero clue she was in trouble.

 _No_. He couldn't have her out in public on a regular and predictable bases. Not yet.

After several moments without answer, she turned warily and saw her silent, ashen husband. He looked as if he was going to be sick. She immediately grew despairing.

"I need _something_ , Draco. That huge house is stiflingly empty when you're away. You have no idea how lonely my life is right now…" his wife muttered softly, eyes losing that wonderful glow.

He wanted to give in more than anything, _never_ wanted to deny her something she clearly needed. But like so many other instances over the last few years, Draco put her safety above all else.

He knew better than to forbid her from anything. She was no longer on the compliance potions that had kept him from certain death in the beginning. The stolen Gryffindor princess was as still stubborn as a Hungarian Horntail and bit twice as hard.

Draco pulled her against his chest and rested the bottom of his chin on her head. She had always fit perfectly right there, in his arms, as if she'd been made especial for that spot.

"I don't mind you getting a job, dove, if that's what would make you happy," he started carefully. The intelligent man worked to make his voice sound as hesitant as possible.

She perked up, disbelieving but hopeful, "Really?"

He nodded, "Of course, Hermione. I'm not trying to keep you locked away. I had just hoped…"

"Hoped what?" she prompted tentatively, stroking his arm in response to the melancholy tenor of his tone.

Draco wedged his arm between them and, very slowly, pressed an open palm against her perfectly flat belly. She watched his movements with a furrowed brow before her jaw dropped open comically low.

"If you'd like to find a job instead, then I wont mention a word of it ever again," he looked her straight in the eye, blazing grey into gentle chestnut, "but I've been hoping to start our family soon, dove. I'd very much like to be a father."

It worried him to bring a child into such a violent, unpredictable world but nearly two years of separation from the wizarding war had calmed his paranoia. Had he stayed, he would have been arranged a marriage and obligated to produce an heir at eighteen. Unlike his muggle counterparts, he wasn't afraid to impregnate his partner. He'd welcome any new life that came from his spouse.

She put her hand over her mouth, as if to rein in emotion, but with Draco's height, he was pretty sure he spotted a smile.

"A _baby_ , Draco? Do you really think we're ready?"

He bent to rub the tip of her sweet button nose with his own, they were both chilled and pink from the sting of the cold, mist-carrying wind.

"I want nothing more than to have a child with the woman I adore. I have no shortage of money or love to expend on our family, no matter how many new additions. _I'm ready_ , Hermione," he told her tenderly, "Please say you'll consider it."


	5. Chapter 5

_CHAPTER 5_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Seattle Washington_**

He was going to find a way to get more.

It was perilous to even _think_ about communicating with their world for any reason and Severus had made him swear up and down that he'd never give it to her again once the finite supply ran out, but after twelve months of coveting and loving the stunning witch, he couldn't stand the possibility of it coming to an end.

The powerful, and highly illegal, love potion Draco had been slipping his young bride had finally depleted and the usually unshakable pureblood had never been so paralyzing terrified in his entirely life. He could no longer count on the infallible substance that had bound her to him when his memory alternations and careful deception might not have been enough.

Even the resourceful Slytherin had no way of getting more. He was positive. He'd tried.

The brew was created by his godfather, who frankly, he wasn't sure was even alive still after all the tension that had been crazing Voldemort's inner ranks when Draco had fled. With an unfathomably rare base of female unicorn blood, taken humanely, the potion produced feelings in the drinker as close to love as magically possible, provided the measure was given regularly.

It did not _create_ love.

And when the effects of her last dose faded from Hermione's tiny body she would be left with only her honest to Merlin feelings for her manipulative husband.

For the last year they'd shared a home… a marital bed. He'd let himself warm with gratification and an only recently discovered capacity for joy every time she looked at him with those huge golden eyes and told him that she'd love him always. Until he'd realized he was running out of potion and time, Draco had let himself believe she meant it.

But he could ignore the truth no longer. Severus, the cynical horse's arse he was, had warned him against this probable outcome; that he couldn't force her love forever. The skilled potions master hadn't wanted to give him the powerful elixir at all, had suggested that the compliancy potion would be enough to get her out of the country with him.

But Draco hadn't wanted the Gryffindor princess compliant; though that had been a necessary evil in the beginning. He wanted her to return the affections she had stolen so easily from him as a young boy, and had convinced his famously lovelorn godfather that if he was given just a years worth of her coerced adoration—in the name of getting her away safely and with as little emotional trauma as possible—he'd be able to turn it into a genuine attachment.

Now, as he sat locked behind the thick wooden doors of his home study, he wasn't a fraction as confident in the developed bond.

When she looked at him, kissed him, woke him playfully in the middle of the night for gentle love making, it was so easy to believe that it was real. But that was the charm of the potion, wasn't it? All the fun of the real thing without risking that the wizarding world's sweetheart would never be truly capable of falling for the leader of the Dark Lord's promising new generation of killers.

The handsome blonde sneered against the lip of his scotch glass, not nearly his first of the night.

He'd given her the last of her monthly doses 5 weeks ago and had grown increasingly despondent with every passing day. He couldn't even _look_ at his darling wife, wouldn't be able to live through seeing the love fade from her eyes to be replaced with the same disappointment and contempt she had for him when they were children; even when her shattered memories wouldn't allow her to understand her change of heart.

Draco paused in his spiraling thoughts when he heard her light foot steps pad down the hallway outside the door, was able to follow her noisy progress as she went to their room to settle into bed for the night.

As if on cue, the tightness in his chest began to release itself mercifully. The promise of crawling under the covers and holding her while she slept without threat of rejection, no matter how cowardly, was what had been getting him through his endless days.

He helped himself to another drink.

An hour later, when he'd finally worked up the nerve to join his wife— or perhaps had just succeeded in getting himself sufficiently inebriated— he stripped silently in the dark. His clothes were left in a pile to wrinkle on the floor, his usual compulsive cleanliness as disjointed as the rest of his emotions.

Her delicate little back to him, she didn't move a muscle as he spooned himself against her; didn't stir when he ran his fingers gently through the riot of curls he loved so much. Hermione wore one of his shirts, a steal from yesterday's laundry and he felt dizzy at the notion of her intentionally choosing to fall asleep surrounded by his scent.

It wasn't until he pressed his cheek against hers did he realize that it was damp and salted with tears; far too wet for her to have stopped crying more than just a few moments before.

"You're awake," he said quietly, almost an accusation. It was only his body's refusal to release her that kept him from fleeing the room, from running from the inevitable. He didn't want to wait for her to push him from their bed.

She made a sound that could only be described as a whimper at being caught. It held so much sadness it resonated with him like a kick to the gut.

"Are you going to leave?" she asked, resigned. The hoarseness in her normally silky voice confirming what the moisture beneath her eyes had eluded to.

His mouth was dry and his palms coated in sweat. So blinded by his own interpretation of her words, he failed to even notice the way her tiny hands clenched at his arm like she was holding on for dear life.

"I will if you want me to," he said thickly, pain hidden like only a man whom had experienced far too much of it could.

The witch stiffened and turned in his arms, attempting to face him. His grey eyes clenched shut before she could maneuver herself. Instead, he focused on her sweet breath as it fanned across his lips.

" _Please._ Look at me."

But he couldn't.

It surprised him to feel her tiny fingers run along his cheek and, his mind muddled with alcohol, he leaned his face into her palm like an attention-starved cat. " _Draco_ ," she whispered, " _What are doing to us?"_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Seattle Washington_**

The intruder watched on with huge, disbelieving eyes. Even from his hiding spot on the very edge of the property, a considerable distance that would amount to roughly half a quidditch field away, he could easily recognize that familiar face and wild hair.

Though he had searched hard, pursued _every_ impossibly small lead, he hadn't honestly expected to find her. He was _so_ sure that only death could keep her from fighting at Harry's side. The girl had always been unendingly loyal and brave. All his work had led to this moment, this climax, but he couldn't help but feel a painful stab of disappointment. They'd needed her, _mourned_ her, and she'd been hiding in the Americas enjoying a perfect life.

Hermione Granger was walking with meticulous care across an embankment of coastal sea rocks, a private stretch of beach outside an envy worthy modern-style home. She looked to be taking extra care because she was maneuvering her way around with a sweetly swollen belly.

The war heroine that just about every one had taken for dead—happy and healthier than everyone she'd left behind and at least seven months heavy with child.

Her observer was so enthralled with watching his childhood friend, and contemplating how he'd get passed the powerful wards to get closer without frightening her into running, he didn't even realize he was also being watched until it was too late.

He was disarmed and held at wand point before he could even yelp in surprise.

" _You shouldn't have come here, Longbottom_ ," Neville's attacker growled with tangible fury.

The sense of déjà vu was so strong that, for a moment, both wizards were back in the halls of Hogwarts; the popular Slytherin having managed to corner Gryffindor's weakest once again.

The chubby wizard blinked rapidly, too shocked to be frightened. "M-Malfoy?"

Draco grimaced at the reference to his past life and pointed his rarely used wand at the heart of his former and present adversary.

"How did you find us? Who knows you're here?" he hissed urgently, sparing a split second glance to make sure his wife was oblivious and safe in her musings.

Recognizing the deadly glint in the rumored Death Eater's eyes, Neville razed his hands carefully in gesture of compliance. The youngest Malfoy too, was considered long dead, and whatever the Gryffindor expected to find when, and if, he ever caught up to Hermione, this certainly wasn't it.

"Y-You're d-dead," the awkward wizard stuttered, eyes darting between Draco's face and threatening wand.

The pureblood snarled, " _Answer my questions_."

"I-I don't… remember them," Neville swallowed hard.

Draco's wand arm shook with restraint. He had a wife and child to protect. If Londbottom was just the first of many he may only have seconds to get to her and flee.

" _Who_ are you _with_?" he enunciate slowly, as if talking to someone with a limited mental capacity, "And answer me truthfully. I'm an accomplished Legilimenist and unless you've gone through some type of delayed magical puberty since we last met, that tiny rat brain of yours doesn't stand a chance at keeping anything from me."

Neville _still_ considered lying.

He was the only one Harry had trusted to look for Hermione, the only one aside from Ron's family who held hope of her return. It was his latest mission while everyone continued on in the worsening war conditions. He hadn't expected today's check to be anything more than the other countless dead ends. If he died here, no one would ever be the wiser.

"It's just me," he confessed after weighing the treat of exposure, "I'm the only one who's looking and it was mainly good luck that led me here. I've looked at dozens of Hermione's that have recently immigrated. This wasn't even the fist country I checked…"

Draco could tell form the fear and panic on the chunky wizard's face that he was telling the truth and relaxed enough to let some of the rigidity out of his coiled muscles. He looked over Longbottom appraisingly. He was the first familiar face he'd seen in years and even then the pathetic waste of magical blood looked like shite. Neville seemed aged ten years instead of three and had scars across every patch of exposed skin.

The war had not been kind to him and Draco was again deeply pleased that he had escaped when he was able.

At that thought, he was hit with a wave of loathing for the frightened wizard in front of him. _How dare_ the imbecile come into his world and threaten the little bit of good he had managed to keep in his miserable life. His very existence was a threat to his tiny family.

Draco's fingers turned white from his grip on the wand. "I should kill you now and be done with it," he considered aloud.

The blood drained from Neville's pudgy face. He hadn't survived the Death Eaters just be killed here, a half a world away from home. Hermione was so close… she'd never let him die.

He took a deep, desperate breath and called out at the top of his lungs, "HERMI-"

Draco's pale fist slammed into the side of his face before he could even finish his plea for help. He lost his footing in response to the overwhelming pain and hit the sandy ground like a ton of bricks.

Neville was more stunned than he would have been if hit with a _Curcio_. He never expected a physical attack from the mighty pureblood. It was so… muggle. As he held his busted, gushing lip and stared up at Malfoy's jeans and dark pea coat, he realized he should have reevaluated the man his captor had become.

"Ple-Please…" he begged softly. He wished he was brave and fearless like Harry and Ron, but he wasn't. He'd plead if it meant life. "I don't want to die… I just wanted to get 'Mione back…"

Draco's handsome face was red with irritation, glancing over to make sure his wife hasn't heard the scream. He wanted to kick the fool for good measure but just found himself cursing down at the bleeding man instead. It would be like kicking a stupid puppy, he realized.

"You _fucking idiot_ ," he spat, panting lightly and waving the sting out of his fist "She wouldn't even know who you are."

"It's only been a few years!"

The aristocratic blonde rolled his eyes, "Her memories are blocked. You could walk right up to her, tell her she needs to return to the wizarding war back home, and the only thing you'd accomplish would be frightening the daylights out of her."

The grounded man looked as though he'd been punched again, even harder this time. "You mean… You actua-"

"I did what I needed to do to keep her safe," Draco snapped viscously. "I'll make no apologies."

As scared as he was, Neville couldn't keep himself from trying to reason with the Slytherin, a task he should have known was fruitless. He looked passed the rock that was hiding the view of them in Hermione's direction. She hadn't abandoned them at all. She'd been taken.

"You don't understand. Harry needs her. _We all_ need her…"

Draco's eyes flashed like nothing Neville had ever seen before. He instinctively crawled back on his blood covered palms.

"My wife is not a wartime commodity," he snarled, advancing on his slowly retreating target like a snake on a mouse; graceful and coldblooded. "No matter what that sparkly eyed old fool forced into your skulls…she is worth far more than just another glorified martyr to a failing cause."

Despite having the picture panted perfectly in front of him, Neville hadn't, until that moment, matched Malfoy's fierce protectiveness with 'Mione's rounded belly. Never in a million years would he believed that the pureblood heir had stolen the most famous muggle born witch out of love.

"She's- You marri-"

Draco gave his notorious sneer, " _Yes_. That's my pregnant wife you're so eager to take to slaughter. I've _seen_ what they do to muggleborns, Longbottom. Tell me? Are there even any left?"

Neville's heart sunk. The deaths had been devastating and numerous. Sometimes it felt as though there was nothing worth fighting for anymore. The few of them that suspected her alive had hoped that their sweet friend could breathe new life into them, but when put Malfoy's way, it sounded incredibly stupid to ask all that of her.

The protective husband shook his head solemnly. Hermione would be coming inside soon and she needed tending to. Not to mention that he now had a move to plan. Perhaps a larger city this time.

"Now what do you suggest I do with you?" he brought the topic back full cycle.

"Y-You can let me go… I wont tell anyone! I swear," Neville promised hopefully. Maybe if he just assured Harry that she was still alive and well, it would be enough to get their leader's shattered spirit up.

Draco laughed, a masculine ring of genuine amusement. It sent a chill right up the Gryffindor's spine. "That's not nearly good enough, Longbottom. If you cant hold your ground with me I can only imagine what you'd give away under my dear sire's hospitality."

He lifted his wand and Neville screeched as he scrambled backwards until his shoulders hit solid stone. "Merlin, Malfoy, don't kill me! I swear I didn't mean her any harm. 'Mione's my friend."

He wasn't about to bet money on it, but he thought he saw the pureblood's features soften.

"I'm going to be a father in two months. I wont have your blood on my hands when I hold my son for the first time," Draco stated with tender determination.

"But you wont have this memory should someone go poking through your mind. And you will never put my family at risk again."


	7. Chapter 7

_CHAPTER 7_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _New York City, NY._**

Sexual innocence was just about the only type he had left.

Once, when he was fourteen, he'd managed to talk a rather loose chit from Ravenclaw into wanking him off in an empty classroom. In her defense, it took all of two and a half pumps and she probably hadn't meant to get a shot of his eager young essence all over her blue and bronze sweater. It had been the single most exhilarating experience of his short life up until that point and he had eagerly bragged to his father at the first opportunity.

Draco was introduced to the agony of an unforgivable that night, a previously unfathomable amount of pain. He'd never seen Lucius so angry.

 _"If you want to spill your seed around whores,"_ the Malfoy patriarch had spat at him as he lay in a lump of seizing muscles on the parquet floor, _"you'll do it after I've secured you a beneficial marriage and a proper woman has birthed your heir."_

His roaring adolescent libido had gotten another push for suppression when they were sixteen and a slurring, staggering Pansy had drunkenly confessed to half the common room that her father beat her every break she came home without managing to manipulate a binding engagement into the elite Malfoy family, distraught after another year of him ignoring her thinly veiled attempts to trap him with her lacking feminine wiles.

By that time the Dark Lord had settled into the manor and the Slytherin prince was more than content with leaving the pureblood wench to deal with her own demons. He never claimed to be a hero and Parkinson wouldn't know what a real beating was if it ripped into the flesh of her back like one of his father's famous lashing hexes.

But now the young wizard _did have_ a proper wife to spill his seed into, and he'd wanted her more than anything in the world since the night that Bulgarian troll Krum had draped her proudly on his arm and showed every male in school what perfect looked like.

"Draco, _please_ ," perfect begged him softly.

Hermione in love, even the bottled variety, was every thing he'd hoped for. Sweet and shy and his very own definition of exquisite. She blushed like a school girl every time he'd taken her tiny hand in his but didn't allow him to distract her as she dragged him through the city's muggle museums like she couldn't possibly sop up knowledge fast enough.

And when they'd made it back to their hotel suite, his spoiled legs aching and her bright eyes shinning with delight from the adventures of their make-shift honeymoon, her new husband wanted to do terrible, beautiful things to the stunning witch. Draco longed to touch her breasts, run his hands up her thighs… yearned to taste her intimate pleasure. He wanted to do all the things the other Slytherin boys swore made their females purr like kittens.

But none of those blistering desires had kept him from losing his shit the moment her innocent hands had reached for the buckle of his jeans, nor had they kept him from hastily pulling out his new wand and hitting his bride with an exhaustion charm that sent her small body slumping into his arms.

Hermione Granger had been Mrs. Black— the female counterpart to his alias, as listed on their falsified documentation— for a full three weeks and he still didn't know what she looked like naked.

A situation that was apparently about to be rectified as he had woken to the gentle caresses of his curious mate, the intelligent witch having found a way around her mysterious night-time fatigue.

" _Please_ ," she coaxed again, hardly audible over the sound of blood rushing to his head and the feel of blood flooding… other places.

She ran her tiny hand over the lines of his stomach and the attention starved young wizard wanted to cry, it felt that good.

" _Gods_ , Hermione. We don't have to do this now. We don't have to do this _ever_ , if you don't want to," he grounded out, pulling at his pigmentless hair and trying his best not to suggest anything that the compliancy potion would force her to do; like a plea for her to move that little hand a bit lower.

She shot him a dubious look. "Of course I want this. I don't want to do anything else today. I don't even want to leave our room," she flushed lightly at the admission and dropped her gaze to the pattern of the comforter that covered them, "Please, Draco. I need this. _Need you_. Don't you want me?"

His chest tighten so quickly it made him dizzy— those life changing words. The sharp, regal features of his face softened and he pulled the girl in close. "I've never had anyone of my very own before," he brushed the mused hair back and away from her face, "You're mine. I'll always want you." She'd never know how much.

Her pink lips curled at the edges, the same look of poorly suppressed pride she used to get when boasted upon by their smitten professors.

Draco's eyes darkened as he remember how much enjoyment the lovely witch derived from wiping the academic floor with him. He breathed deeply and braced himself to get the only thing in the world he'd wanted more than his father's approval.

"Clothes off then, dove. I want to see my wife."

The confidence faded from her pretty face so fast one would have thought he'd asked her to play seeker at next year's World Cup. He huffed a laugh and took the pressure off his bride by rolling her onto her back and pinning her beneath his careful weight.

Draco kissed her soundly, and as she threw her heart into the embrace, he tried to reconcile the eerie sense of awareness he felt over every molecule of his body with the simultaneous lack of control.

Hermione's sounds— the tiny whimpers from the back of her throat all the way to the gasp of discontent she voiced when he broke away to pull her free of her shirt and innocent cotton knickers—stirred his cock to the point of mind-numbing ache and the smell that hit his nostrils once she was free of her panties made his hips burn with the most powerful compulsion to _thrust_.

The inexperienced man, hardly more than a boy had he not been hardened by the core of a war, physically shook with stimulation.

Her body grounded him.

She looked up, panting and sheepish as he studied her for the first time. His wife was breathtaking. Worth absolutely all of it; the pain and the loneliness and the fear of leaving everything he'd ever known.

Draco ran his palm up her bare belly, stopping just bellow the swell of pert, perfect breasts.

" _So thin_ ," he muttered to himself. He could feel every last one of her ribs, could spread his long fingers and span the entire surface of her narrow waist. She'd been living in the wilderness with those two incompetents for months when she landed in his manor, dirty and half starved. She had been fending for herself, no doubt.

He touched her cheek, eyes soft, "Never again, dove. You'll never need for anything ever again… never be afraid or alone. I wont allow it," he promised her and meant it.

Hermione laughed indulgently, accepting his words as a passionate declaration of an eager new husband. "I'm wanting for something right now," she teased and reached to smooth the furrow of his brow.

He dropped his hand between her thighs and felt the wet, warm apex of a woman's sex for the first time.

"Just here?" he murmured, taking her in.

She hissed at his sudden touch so he continued to slip his fingers across her. Draco watched her reaction and squirmed anxiously with his own throbbing need.

"I don't know what to do yet," he confessed easily, only to her, "I don't know how to make it good for you but I swear I'll learn. I just want inside you."

The length jutting from between his hips lurched for emphases

His wife, the fearless Gryffindor, pulled him down on top of her and invited him between her legs. She hooked her toes into the band of his strange muggle briefs and slipped them down his legs impressively.

Draco meant to comment but the moment his cock was freed its head settled _right there_ and all conventional thought evaporated. He was all instinct, impulse and the need to be closer to her than he'd ever been with anyone.

"I don't know how to please you either," she admitted timidly, "But I can give you this. Just make me yours, Draco. I'm alright."

He grunted, resting his forehead on hers. "Fuck, I love you."

The best moment of his life sounded like just about the most painful instant of hers because the second he surged into her heat she yelped like he'd stabbed her. Not knowing any better, the momentum of his grinding hips had sent his member sailing past the tiny layer of resistance and it felt so fucking wonderful he undoubtedly wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't voice her discomfort.

Draco's eyes shot open, "Jesus fuck, I broke something," he breathed, panicked. Hermione's eyes, in contrast clenched as tightly with her sweet cunt. He felt the warmth of her trickle down his loins.

 _A virgin_ , he marveled.

The possessive pureblood never liked to think about her with other men but he hadn't thought she was untouched. The Weasley's reproduced like rabbits and tried to mate with anything, even the small Weasley female that had made her way through the Gryffindor quidditch team before she traded up to Potter. The weakest link of the golden trio was always sniffing around the beautiful brunette and Draco had occasionally tormented himself with the probability that the two might have been an item.

If at all possible, she became even more of a treasure to him.

" _Such a_ _good girl_ ," he praised her adoringly, kissing her into responsiveness and moving inside her with much more caution, "My sweet girl. You knew you belonged to me even then, didn't you?" he crooned as she began to relax around him.

He didn't last long, and chanted apologies as he fruitlessly fought off his release, nor did he notice that his eyes were wet when he reached his completion inside her—a climax that trumped any of the thousand fantasies he'd contented himself with when they were as close to her as he dreamed of getting.

Sated and boneless after spilling himself, the handsome boy slumped off of her and pulled her flush against him. Neither one of them could stop smiling.

It wasn't until she gasped and gazed down at there bodies with the pink glow of embarrassment that he saw the small mess of bright red. It coated his loins and her thighs, stained a small dark mass into the pristine sheets.

It was the most incredible thing the son of the notoriously bigoted muggle-hater had ever seen.

"It's beautiful," he heard himself choke out. And it was. Hermione's blood was crimson and innocent and at least hundred times as pure as his own, he was sure to his core. Draco dropped his head and pressed his ear against her heaving breasts, her precious, pounding heart. "I always knew it would be."

 **-Thanks to everyone who is giving the story a shot so far!-**


	8. Chapter 8

_CHAPTER 8_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._**

The door to the Headmaster's inner office swung open without warning, a Slytherin flare for the theatrical. The room's newest master was not startled nor surprised to see the regal boy glide, uninvited, into his space. The dark wizard had a tolerance for his godson that he extended to no other, and the young pureblood exploited it to its full advantage.

Severus Snape waited placidly for explanation.

He'd watched Draco's proud form dim and deteriorate at a worrisome rate since the loss of his mother, but the Malfoy heir looked crazed beyond reason as he paced across the small room. No words, just the back and forth, back and forth, of a caged jungle cat.

Even his magic seemed to be volatile, pulsing around him like a static charge.

"Where are they?" he finally bit out, eyes wild.

The Death Eater's mask of lazy indifference gave nothing away, as always. "Refine your question, Draco. You aren't an imbecile."

The boy sneered but dropped himself into the nearest chair, pulling at the root of his fine locks like he was attempting to yank it from his scalp. "I've been leading his hunts for months… I've tracked down dozens… _k-killed_ , so I could be there if we ever caught them," his voice trembled with duress. " _Please,_ Severus. Just tell me that you know she's still alive."

Though both men were aware that they shared a kinship in their grudge against the Dark Lord, neither had gone as far as openly discussing the matter. Regardless of the security of the location, there was something needlessly dangerous about voicing such things aloud.

By the look of the crumbling young wizard, though, he'd teeter over the cusp of recklessness if his isolation continued. Severus knew the consuming madness a man could suffer over love for a witch; from the unrequited to the just plain stupid.

The reluctant Headmaster raised his wand, and, with a flick of the ebony tool and an outcry of indignant protests, covered the rows of eavesdropping portraits in thick black haze.

He sat back in Dumbledore's old perch, unhurried.

"As of last month, the girl was still keeping her two… _companions_ alive. They were camping in the Forest of Dean, but have since moved on… To where, your guess would be as good as mine."

Draco looked as though the rush of relief would knock him out cold. His pallor immediately improved, the flow of blood hiding some of the bluish veins that had made a home on his sharp features.

His godfather grew increasingly uncomfortable. He'd always been aware of the popular Slytherin's fixation with the Granger girl—Lucius had beat accepting only the best into his son's head, and blood status aside, there was no female more desirable than Gryffindor's prized princess—but thought it no more than the pureblood propensity to want what they couldn't have. Severus so very rarely took blame upon himself but his misinterpretation of the situation could have cost the boy his life.

"You need to rid yourself of this obsession, Draco. The Dark Lord will not gift her to you. She is too important to the Light. The greater your attachment, the more pain it will cause you when her time comes." He saw no point in mincing words.

Draco's lifeless gaze darkened with a hatred most were not passionate enough to sustain. "Never again will I anticipate any show of mercy from that demon," Severus doubted that the memories of holding his mother's cold body were ever far from the boy's mind, "He won't get anywhere near her. As soon as I find her, I'm going to take us as far from all this as I can. I've been making arrangements for months, but I can't leave her behind. I _won't_."

" _Arrangements_?"

The raven haired Death Eater was the only man among their ranks he could confide such things to. Trustworthiness aside, the Dark Lord was a master at invading minds and did so often.

Even still, Malfoy had made a recent habit out of trusting absolutely no one, and Snape guessed that he was only doing so now out of need for his resources.

The boy lowered his voice, a subconscious impulse while speaking aloud his intentions when doing so could mean death, "I've transfered all of my coin into foreign accounts… Muggle accounts. This world isn't worth holding onto, the way it is now. There's nothing here for me."

The haze in his eyes held the desperation of a man on borrowed time. "He's pleased with me, Severus. It's only a matter of months until he'll call upon me to receive my Mark. I've only escaped it this long because I requested my father be present, and we aren't in a position to free him yet."

It was the last thing in the world Severus expected to hear from this personification of pure Wizarding blood, "You wouldn't last a day among the Muggles. You know nothing of them."

He imagined Draco surviving the Dark Lord just to be hit and killed by a car because he didn't understand street signs, or something equally mundane. It was almost an amusing thought.

The blonde's confidence held strong, "She'll be my guide."

His godfather lifted a brow, "So you plan to take her as your slave," he mocked dryly.

Malfoy was an incredibly powerful wizard despite his youth, but the Granger girl was in a league of her own. She'd sooner _Avada_ him in his sleep than surrender to his will.

"I plan to take her as my wife," Draco corrected bluntly.

Onyx eyes pinned him like a moth to a board. "Go out and find yourself an attractive witch of socially acceptable blood status and forget Hermione Granger," the mentor advised carefully, knowing better than anyone the value of the advice. "There is no salvation or happy endings for wizards who covet women too good for them."

Draco flinched at his words. When younger, such an insult would have lead to the hot-headed boy pulling his wand out in hasty threat… Now though, both men knew it was nothing but truth.

"I can make her happy," he protested weakly, "just not here, not like this... I've been working on this memory charm… it doesn't erase, just represses. It's less…damaging. I'd still need to get my hands on a few potions," the once-spoiled child mentioned pointedly, "Something to make her trust me at first, and something to block her magic… But she won't even have to _remember_ any of this. We can just-"

" _Are you out of your inbred mind?"_ Severus snapped the instant he realized the boy was serious. "If the Light pulls through, and you're caught with Potter's little girlfriend, you'll be buried under so many charges you'd rot in Azkaban before you even make it to trial… Kidnapping, drugging, rape-"

"That's the problem, _isn't it_?" Draco yelled into the room, voice strung with stress instead of anger. He launched himself from his chair with such force that the substantial piece of furniture was sent thudding to the ground. Severus watched as the boy clawed at his hair, his face, his robes; agitated past the point of being able to contain himself within his failing body.

" _Potter_? _The Order_? They don't stand a chance in hell against him. Not even they believe they do. Their Chosen-One isn't out of the Dark Lord's grasp because he's in some impenetrable strong hold. He's scurrying around with two of his school mates, one _hair's breath_ in front of us. Voldemort will strike them down… all at once or one by one like he's exterminating rats."

The young wizard's features rippled with pain beyond his years. "We hunted down the Mudblood Ted Tonks two days ago, our Lord's orders. He looked me in the eye when I killed him…" Draco pressed his palms into his sockets like he was trying to force the memory out of his head. "That man was my aunt's husband."

The seasoned Death Eater had been forced to kill for so long that it was almost difficult to empathize—but the posture of young wizard's body, the way it hunched forward with an invisible weight… that he knew well.

"I'm not my father, Severus. I grew up during peace. I wasn't made for this. Potter will fall, just like he was always meant to, and she'll still be standing faithfully at his side to be made an example of. The Mudblood princess; no closer to a real witch than a talking dog is to a human being…" The blonde sneered.

Severus held out more hope than his young counterpart—he'd be dead and buried if he believed there was no chance of revenge—but he also knew more pieces of the puzzle. Still, he could see why the Dark Lord would seem an unstoppable force to the boy, and saw no point in denying that his stubborn love interest would more than likely fall as collateral damage—the way she enjoyed risking life and limb for Potter.

"Perhaps then, that is her destiny," he reasoned. "It's not for you to decide."

Draco froze, still as stone and Snape recognized that calculating glimmer in those grey eyes. It was a flashing that would normally spell a vengeful blow had they been in the skull of the nearly identical Malfoy patriarch. Neither pureblood, father nor son, took well to being denied.

Severus watched as the boy's pale hand grow taut around the wand in its grip and readied a shield for a quick deflection.

He wasn't expected the non-physical blow and it hit him twice as hard as any hex Draco could have conjured.

"And if you had known then that Evans' ' _destiny'_ was death… would you not have done more to save her? Done _anything_?" he was questioned, "Was letting her chose her own path worth it when it led her to slaughter?"

Severus could have _Crucioed_ the little fuckwit until he spit out his perfect white teeth for running his mouth about things he knew nothing of. Lucius loved to tell stories of the Mudblood whore that left the infallible Severus Snape an empty shell of a man—a cautionary tail of what happens to wizards that give their hearts to unsavory females—but Draco had never breathed a word about it to anyone.

The realization that the boy considered Granger his own personal Lily Evens shocked him into stillness long enough to see that Draco was instantly choked with guilt. His every feature begged him to understand, to forgive him, as he allowed his burst of bravado to melt into shamefaced remorse.

"I'm _sorry_. I just-" Draco's shoulders slumped, "I'm not as hard as my father, but I'm not a strong as you. I can't _live_ like this, with no hope and a thousand regrets.

"If you don't help me… I'm not even going to try."

The Dark Lord's traitorous right-hand studied him silently before consenting with a stiff nod.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Chicago, IL.**

He hadn't found out the Dark Lord had been defeated until a full two years after Potter had reached out from the ashes of exile and destroyed the powerful tyrant.

Though the Muggle American's had abandoned isolationism decades ago, it was alive and well in their wizarding population. Between their disinterest in foreign affairs and the man's tendency not to speak with anyone but a few store owners when he popped into his former world for the odd item now and then, the knowledge had escaped him.

It had been one of these occasional acquaintances that had tipped him off with the information he'd convinced himself he didn't care to hear.

"Why are you still here, ya' coward?" the old hag from the Apothecary had cackled at him as he counted out the necessary payment.

He looked up, not a clue what she was referring to. "Waiting for my order, _clearly_." The handsome blonde sneered at the ugly witch, already uncomfortable with his surroundings and annoyed that someone would address him when he was careful to give all appearances of wanting to be left alone," Perhaps if you'd talk less and work more I could be on my way."

She seemed unfazed by his coldness. A clerk in an unsavory, dark arts part of town, she had no doubt dealt with much worse, " _In the country_ , you fool. You have _defector_ written all over you. The war's been settled in your country for years. All the rest have already gone back from where they came from. Why haven't you?"

Still, it wasn't until several weeks later when curiosity got the better of him did he actively seek to find out the fate of the life he and his wife had left behind.

Draco couldn't believe what he'd found.

As a boy, he couldn't fathom any possible future in which the Dark Lord could be defeated. He had watched his father, the most powerful man in his world, submit to a master, had stood aside as countless witches and wizards were struck down like expendable currency to his cause. The misfits that patched together the Light's resistance were a laughable speed bump before Voldemort's complete reign. A murdered old fool leading a team of children—and a handful of noble wizarding oddities like Nymphadora and the werewolf—seemingly from the grave. Riddle had long secured the purebloods, with all their ancient wealth, and had an critical edge that Potter's team could never touch. The despot was willing to sacrifice _every single man, woman or child_ under his power in order to crush his opposition.

When he had taken Hermione away, he did it with the certainty that she'd never survive even the first stages of the take over. She might not have chosen him but she was safe and alive.

But Potter and Weasley _had_ survived, and even though it had taken them the better part of a decade and the destruction of half of wizarding England, they had _won_.

If she had been with them…

Now, as Draco leaned against the door to their son's room and watched his wife tuck their six year old into bed, he wondered for the first time, if a different path could have led her to a happier outcome.

With the devotion she showed her family, he knew she loved him and her son, but maybe—if given the choice—she'd have been kissing the freckled cheek of a tiny redheaded child instead. Now that he knew that had been a possibility, the thought tore at him. He had been content with the life he'd scrapped together for them when he thought the alternative was death and servitude, now that he knew Hermione Black had missed out on everything Hermione Granger had loved and worked for, it all felt woefully inadequate.

Two pairs of eyes, one a match of his own and the other that perfect shade of amber flashed to him as he shifted into sight.

"Dad!" Alexander cheered, as eager as ever for a reason to stay up just a few moments later. The small platinum haired boy tried to scramble out of bed but his mother gave him a reprimanding stare that had even the stubborn heir of Draco Malfoy freezing in his tracks.

"Oh no you don't," Hermione laughed, pulling the blanket up to her son's chin and making a show of tucking it around the child tightly enough to resemble a maniac in a straight jacket, "I just barely got you in there. You get a story and then you're going to sleep."

His son looked to him, desperate for pardon, but Draco didn't dare go against his fierce wife's orders. Their son was as willful as all Malfoy men, and unfortunately felt just as entitled. But thanks to Hermione's influence, he was also respectful and affectionate; which had been a surprise for Draco, whose only father-son experience was between himself and a domineering Lucius.

"You heard the boss," he smirked, pressing a light kiss onto Hermione's forehead as he took a seat on the edge of the bed beside her.

Alexander formed his father's famous scowl at Draco's lack of support but quickly allowed it to morph into a smug little smile that made both parents nervous. "Fine," he sniffed, "But I want dad to tell me my story tonight."

The small family's patriarch paled and his wife dissolved into a fit of giggles.

While Hermione was a wildly creative and skilled story teller, spoiling the child with scenes from her imagination—which she unknowingly drew mostly from her own history—Draco had always contented himself with sitting back and listening along side his son. He hardly had a plethora of muggle stories to draw from, nor were the recesses of his mind filled with things child-appropriate.

He shook his head slowly, "I don't think-"

" _Please_ , dad?"

Draco glanced to his wife for an out but the beautiful, unhelpful creature was already settling in next to the boy, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Go on, then," she prompted, "We don't have all night, love."

Resigned, he struggled to come up with anything that could entertain his two companions. Looking just a touch out of place in his expensive suit, he leaned across the bottom of the brightly colored, train-themed bedspread and internally berated himself for feeling such embarrassment.

He sighed, "How is it these things start when your mother tells them?"

"Once upon a time," the boy informed him importantly.

" _Right_ ," Draco rubbed at the nape of his neck. Perhaps it was out of his building sense of guilt or simply due to the state of his thoughts of late, the story that came to him was more of a confession than anything else and was unwilling to be repressed.

"Well… once upon a time there was- there was a prince."

His wife bit back a burst laughter at the start of his clichéd fair tale. Draco pointedly ignored her.

"He wasn't a good prince. The- kingdom he belonged to was very dark, monstrous even. They prayed on the other kingdoms and had a ruler that would lie and cheat and kill anyone he needed to in order to get the power he wanted. The Dark King."

"Draco!" Hermione squeaked, her hands immediately over he son's ears, "He's only six!"

Alexander swatted her away petulantly. "I want to hear! Go on, dad," he urged.

Draco gave her a chastised look, a silent promise to keep everything clean and received her nod of reluctant acceptance. "The prince did everything the Dark King asked of him, no matter how terrible, because-"

"Did he kill people? With a sword?" his son interrupted, leaning forward with excitement.

He tried not to meet his wife's glare as he answered honestly, "That was part of it, yes. The prince led most of the King's- raids, searching out people from other territories that were trying to stop the Dark from taking over.

"He followed his king blindly for many years, more afraid of the Dark's wrath than he was of the damage his deeds were having on his soul."

He paused, his eyes flashing to his wife for a fraction of a second, checking for any signs of recognition or familiarity, "But as he grew older, the prince fell in love."

The small boy groaned in disgust, his body plummeting back into the bed like the sudden loss of interest in his father's tale had made him weak. "This is a _girl_ story," he declared.

"Want me to stop?" Draco lifted a pale brow, "You can go to sleep right now, if you'd like." Alexander shook his head quickly. "As I suspected. _Anyway_ , the problem was not that the prince had fallen in love, but rather, whom he fell in love _with_.

"She was the princess of the Light, his kingdom's sworn enemy. The girl was the head of her people's resistance, as pure and kind as the Dark King was wicked and they loved her for it. She was their strength."

His eyes were on everything but Hermione as he remembered. "The princess hated the prince because of what he was and the evil he served …so for a time, he watched her from afar."

"Why would he love her if she wouldn't even talk to him?" Alexander demanded with a child's practicality, more interested than he'd ever admit.

"He didn't _want_ to love her, she represented everything he was raised to hate. But she was so beautiful, so _good_ , that he couldn't help but be drawn to her. He managed to stay away from her though, to leave her alone. He probably would have been able to keep himself from her his entire life if it wasn't for the war.

"You see, the Dark grew in power with every passing year, and when they were finally strong enough to take over, they attacked the kingdom of Light, bent on the destruction of everyone that stood in their way. Unable to fight, the princess and all the leaders were forced into hiding."

"They _hid_? They didn't even fight back?" Alexander snorted, his thoughts so much like his father's at a younger age.

"They didn't stand a chance," Draco stressed, "And the prince knew that too. He know that if his princess were caught, she'd be killed and he grew resentful of the Dark King. He didn't want to hurt people any more, he only wanted to be with his love.

"It wasn't long before he decided to leave the Dark 's ranks, but he refused to go knowing that she could have been caught and hurt while he was away. The prince searched everywhere for her, desperate to find her before others from his kingdom could. But he was too late."

This time it was Hermione herself who interrupted his tale with a small gasp. For a moment, he thought he might have triggered a memory but her blushing face held only silly concern for his story's heroine. Though his charms had held their entire adult lives, it was hard for him to imagine her not being able to remember their former world when it was discussed under such a thin veil.

He had never felt regret over the choices he'd made for them , but it bothered him a great deal that she wasn't able to remember herself as the brave little force he first fell in love with.

"She had been captured," the handsome blonde thought back on that day, "was being tortured by people he had had once considered family."

Alexander swallowed hard, "Did they… kill her?"

Draco shook his head, "No. The prince killed them and saved her life. He- convinced her to run away with him and they both left the war and their kingdoms behind," he finished like it was the sweetest ending that ever was.

His wife and child gaped at him, wide eyed and still as stone.

Both males startled lightly when Hermione erupted with vibrant peels of laughter.

She had hysterically tears rolling down her cheeks by the time she had calmed her giggles enough to speak. " _Oh_ _Draco_ ," she smiled at her husband indulgently, "That's has to be _the worst_ story ever told."


	10. Chapter 10

_CHAPTER 10_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._**

It was a sweet, chest-warming scene to the unbiased eye.

But his chest wasn't warmed nor were his grey eyes unbiased.

Two childhood mates slipping into an innocent awareness of one another. A pretty little girl, doe eyed and shy, only for him. A gangly boy, with freckled cheeks as red as his hair, only for her. They sat on a conjured blanket, at least a dozen library books spread out around them as she studied for her classes and he studied her with pathetic stealth.

The young non-couple were a small spot on the Hogwarts grounds, hardly noticeable to the hoards of busy students, but nearly the only thing Draco could focus on as he spied from the shadows of the courtyard.

Every day it grew a little worse and the pureblood's mood a little darker. It was impossible to say what vexed him more; that the pauper had taken so long to notice the person he'd been using for homework answers all these years was actually a priceless witch, or that she was so quick to bask in his delayed attentions.

Weasley, in addition to being entirely unworthy, brought out the worst in her.

She was _fire_ around Draco. Flashing eyes and sharp retorts and lovely, slender fingers that tightened around her wand. The first strike to his perfect face he'd ever received, from man or woman, in his privileged life.

 _Magnificent_.

Over the last few months though, he watched her begin to look at the youngest male from the Weasley litter with the same unsure, starry-eyes the Slytherin witches sent his way.

And insecurity didn't suit her.

But Draco wasn't on the grounds that day to torment himself by watching his subpar adversary string together the courage to court the witch of his dreams. An opportunity to end his suffering had recently presented itself and he wouldn't be worth the Malfoy name if he passed it up.

An opportunity in the form of a loose-legged, chubby faced Gryffindor that looked about as pleased as he at Hermione and Weasley's morphing relationship.

Lavender Brown yelped like a witch up to no good when the Slytherin announced his presence with a lazy drawl, "Enjoying the view?"

The startled girl followed his gaze to the couple half a field away, flushing with embarrassment at getting caught snooping.

"Not particularly," she confessed sullenly.

The Hogwart's broomstick had snogged enough of his housemates to easily accept his company when a one-on-one in the shadows with any other Gryffindor would have ended in a heated duel. He watched as she discretely primed her hair smoothed her robes over ample bust.

"I understand why," he nodded slowly, "Disgusting isn't it?"

Her eyes widened, "Ron and Hermione?"

"A pureblood courting one of _them,"_ Draco gave his famous sneer of superiority. His feelings for the little Muggle-born aside, it wasn't hard for him to keep distain in his voice. He held her brilliance as the exception, not the rule.

Brown looked around warily, not eager to be caught involved in such a conversation. Blood status wasn't supposed to matter to the house of red and gold. "You hate Ronald. I would have thought you'd consider them the perfect match."

He shrugged noncommittally, "He's not worth the blood in his veins, but that doesn't mean I enjoy watching our race continue to dilute into filth."

"'Mione's my roommate," she stated softly, but didn't disagree.

"My condolences."

Draco backed off for a moment, skillfully waiting for the dull chit to come around to his implied conclusions. He grimaced as his searching eyes spotted the ginger playfully tickle Hermione's sides in an attempt to pull her attention away from her book. Heaven forbid the idiot bore enough to resort to reading one himself.

They were wrong. All wrong.

He only waited minutes before she predictably continued the conversation. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?" she sighed, watching the same scene with equal annoyance. "He only has eyes for her."

Draco barked a laugh, earning her full attention. It fell short of his typical standard of subtlety but was acceptable for his current audience.

"He hardly has witches lining up for him," he snorted, though it wasn't exactly true. As Potter's lackey, the blood-traitor had his far share of interested followers. "From his position, the little prude probably seems worth the thorough cockteasing he'll get from her."

He could practically _hear_ the schemes churning inside her simple little mind.

" _Yeah_ ," she nodded with increasing awareness, "Granger would rather spend her time with Madam Pince than a wizard." Lavender sniffed, offended by the very notion.

Draco didn't have the restraint to listen to the troll delude herself with the idea of being superior to Hermione Granger in anyway. Brown fell flat in every area the Gryffindor princess shined; being of unimpressive beauty, lackluster magical ability and dubious intelligence. Her blood was the only thing pure about the girl.

She was perfect for Weasley.

The jealousy-blind wizard held back his triumphant smirk as he gave her the piece that was sure to secure her crush's affections.

"Trust me, Brown. He'll leave her for the first witch that shows him a good time." He gave her a pointed wink before walking casually back into the castle.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

But two weeks later when Gryffindor lost fifty points for Ron and Lavender's snogging session in the middle of Transfiguration and then another twenty-five when Hermione rushed, unexcused from the room; Draco felt nothing but hollow-souled misery.

Because as it turned out, insecurity suited her a great deal better than heartbreak.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Wiltshire, England. Malfoy Manor._**

Anyone who had ever claimed Muggles were defenseless was out of their fucking mind.

The entire left side of his aunt's head shattered and blew open in a scene so gruesome, it would have turned his stomach had he been able to feel anything but a frantic need to protect. Her prized pure blood sprayed like a mist onto to white marble floor around her, shards of brain and bone just an instant behind.

 _It knocked him back_ ; the force of the Muggle weapon in the hand of its shooter, power he could feel as tangibly as the surge of any wand. The sound was unfathomable. Even having been expecting it, it rang in his ears with an intensity that was second only to the screams that had stopped the moment it thundered through the room.

So many of the deadliest hexes showed no physical affects on their targets at all. There was almost something peaceful about the way the victim of a killing curse slumped to the ground slowly, the fear on their faces melting away like the strength keeping them up right.

Draco had seen too many peaceful endings.

Just like he'd been expecting—praying for, really—Rodolphus, a man that would have dropped him dead at the first sign of treason, hadn't even drawn his wand. The rancid wizard's dirty face strained from the unexpected blast, his eyes staring at his slumping wife as though her head had spontaneously exploded all on its own. To him, Draco knew, there was no obvious threat in sight, just a cowering little mudblood bleeding on the floor and the wandless Malfoy heir.

The blonde boy had been obsessed with this moment for a year, had lusted after it. He'd pictured himself making Lestrange beg and plead for mercy before ending his life, inflicting pain that would rival what he felt the day he watched his mother die.

Now he just wanted it done. She was more important.

His aunt's brand new widower didn't so much as flinch as Draco aimed the gun at his face with a novice hand. Like most pureblood wizards, the Death Eater hadn't any knowledge that such an object could bring him harm. He blinked at the thing with narrow eyed confusion.

" _What the fuc_ -"

Draco squeezed his finger tight around the trigger a second time, the sound and bite of the kickback no less jarring.

He only watched long enough to assure himself that the other man wouldn't be coming after him, satisfied with the snitch-sized whole in the front of his skull. The dark couple, who could have wiped the floor with him magically, dead because they had spent their entire lives hating Muggles instead of learning from them. Draco's mind spun with the success of a plan he hadn't been sure would work.

That was when the screaming started again.

Bellatrix's body, which had been leaning forward while she carved her way through her captive's arm when Draco had made use of her distraction, had fallen forward onto a terrified Hermione Granger. He kicked the dead weight off of her and pulled the thin brunette away from the pooling blood of his aunt.

She didn't stop screaming, her genuine fear shaking him until he wanted to scream right along with her. He held himself together, unsure whether he had minutes or seconds until his father returned to watch the rest Bella's interrogation.

"H-Hermione," her first name jammed in his throat like something forbidden, "Stop. Please stop. No one's going to hurt you but we don't have much time…"

Those eyes, those light brown eyes he'd seen only in his dreams for the past half year focused on him frantically, pushing through her shock, " _Malfoy_? Draco Malfoy?"

Her question tore a whole in his chest, her voice a hum of uncertainty, not an ounce of happy recognition or relief. For all the days and nights he'd spent looking for her, planning for her, thinking of nothing else but her—he was a nonentity to the beautiful girl, a bothersome but insignificant piece of her past.

Hermione responded to the darkness the thought cast across his features, tensing weakly in his arms. "Please don't kill me."

She'd reached her breaking point; Unforgivables from Bellatrix and the beginnings of the word 'Mudblood' carved into her arm with his aunt's special dagger before Lucius had finally left the room and gave Draco the opportunity to act out his half-hazard plan. The proud, resourceful little thing he'd fallen in love with would never beg for his for mercy. If he had any second thoughts about keeping her from the war, her broken plea had eradicated them. She had no business dodging Death Eaters.

He tightened his hold and kept her safely in his arms as he heaved them off the ground. The wizard told himself that she needed to be carried after the effects of the torture, but in truth, now that he finally had her, it was unlikely he'd ever feel comfortable to putting her down.

"I'm going to get us out of here," he soothed her gently, his eyes already flashing around the room. He had to get them to the front door in order to Apparate. Only the Dark Lord, who was no doubt speeding towards them in reaction to Bella's summons, could pop in and out of the manor's wards.

She rested her cheek against his chest, forced to trust him as her legs trembled uselessly from the Cruciatus. "Harry and Ron. I can't leave without them…"

Draco bristled. The girl didn't know how to put her own survival before all else. It was a wonder she'd lived as long as she had.

"They're safe," he lied.

He had slipped his old wand in Potter's pocket when he was ordered to try and identify the trio. If the talentless idiot couldn't figure out he was armed and able to escape the cellar and Pettigrew's pathetic guard, he deserved to be there when the Dark Lord came for him.

She started to protest but he didn't have time to spare for her peace of mind. There had been a small, properly supplied safe-house waiting for them for months and he needed to get them there before the opportunity was lost.

He leaned her weight on the edge of a dinning room table, still holding her tight, and freed one arm to pull his new untraceable wand out of his robs.

Draco lowered his face in front of hers, forcing eye contact. "I'm going to keep you safe, Granger. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. But you need to trust me. Can you do that?"

Again, having no real alternative, she nodded.

"Brilliant girl," he praised. Without her notice and with a heady pang of guilt, he held the tip of his wand to the back of her head, " _Stupefy_."

Her body slumped against him, much more manageable and right where it belonged.

Draco stepped over his aunt's body and vanished the Muggle gun on his way out of the room, giving the Death Eater's more ideas for destruction the last thing on his priority list. He didn't give his childhood home a second glace as he strode into the front hall. There was absolutely nothing left to miss.

They had almost made it, were feet away, when his father's formidable form slipped out from behind a marble archway, shooting a feeling a kin to ice through Draco's pure wizarding blood and blocking the only exit.

In addition to moving like a ghost, Lucius Malfoy looked like one as well; a fraction of the proud wizard he once was. Azkaban had not been kind to him and in the weeks he'd been free Draco felt more fear than comfort from his father's presence.

"Oh Draco," the man that once loved him tisked with a mocking tenor. Grey eyes identical in shade but hardened beyond recognition studied the girl he had cradled carefully in his arms. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

The boy turned his body away from his father, a pathetic shield, determined that she wouldn't be an easy target when killing curses were sent flying. He didn't think he'd be able to best his sire but he'd die before he handed her over.

"Just let us go," he implored with little hope of success. "I don't want to fight you."

Lucius took several steps forward and he countered with several steps back, his hold on her tighter than his hold on the wand that would be useless against the more powerful wizard.

The elder Malfoy sneered down at the unconscious beauty, "Fight me? You'd threaten your own father over a mudblood. I'm all you have left, boy."

Draco tried his very best to look confident but there was something about the scorn of a parent that could shatter even the bravest of men. "You're the reason you're all I have left. _He_ killed her and yet you serve him still."

Lucius' cool façade—frightening in its own right—slipped into a murderous snarl, "I'm not to blame for your mother's death. I was hardly in a position to help her-"

"Of course not," Draco laughed humorously, empowered by the promise of either death or freedom, "You threw us to the wolves in order to do your Lord's bidding and he thanked you by killing your wife and leaving you to rot in prison until he got around to releasing you."

Hermione groaned softly and shifted in his arms. He'd given her a weak stunner so as not to shock her system and she was begin to come to, " _Hush_ , darling," he crooned to her softly.

The Malfoy patriarch turned an unhealthy shade of red when Draco took time to calm the muggle-born but he knew it was past the point of secrets and pretenses, "You might have been willing to sacrifice the woman you loved for him but that's where I draw my line."

"You'd dare compare a pureblood witch to _that_?"

He continued to look down at her perfect little face as he pretended not to notice his father raise his wand out of the corner of his eye. If he was going to die before he escaped his hell—which he always suspected he was destined to—he wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

It was at that moment that Peter Pettigrew's horrid screech reverberated through the entry hall, sounds of dueling and the shattering of Malfoy antiques ringing loudly from the room the Lestranges had met their end.

Draco had never been so relieved to hear Harry Potter and his redheaded side-kick in his entire life.

As Lucius no doubt contemplated the consequences of allowing Potter to escape before the Dark Lord arrived, his son hit him with a stunning hex powerful enough to level a dragon.

The Gryffindor princess and her kidnapper were out the door before his body had even hit the ground, leaving only the crack of apparition behind.

 **AN; Hope everyone enjoyed the holiday, if you celebrate this time of year. Thanks everyone so much for reading and giving the story a shot. I don't normally reply to reviews unless there is a question that someone would like answered but I read all the reviews and feed back and really appreciate every single comment. Thank you tons and tons for investing your time.**


	12. Chapter 12

**_AN: So sorry if you've been waiting on this. I was doing a holiday with my husband and son and didn't have internet access for my laptop to post this. Back now! Happy New Year from California, Everyone. Thank you for reading and/or commenting!_**

 _CHAPTER 12_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Chicago, IL._**

She looked absolutely stunning, despite her sour expression.

His wife wore all the beautiful things he'd gifted her; the jewels and the fur and a dress that would have made even the lovely Narcissa weep with adoration—items that had spent their post-retail existence shoved in the back of their closet. He had wanted her to have the very best; a trait half learned from his ostentatious parents, half observed from city's top business men whom lavishly decorated their wives and mistresses.

But it seemed the only accessory she _really_ wanted was the small child the sitter had to pry from her iron grasp as Draco dragged her out the door.

Hermione shot him a scathing look, obviously recalling the incident with far less amusement than he.

Draco threaded an arm around her narrow waist affectionately, taking advantage of the fact that she was unable to escape him in the confined space, "Don't be cross with me, Dove. The boy's almost a year old and you've scarcely seen the outside of our home since his birth. He'll be just fine without us for a few hours."

"He was crying so hard when we left… he needs his mum," her pretty face melted from annoyance to maternal concern, nearly heartbreaking enough to make him order the driver to turn the car around and take them back.

"Of course he does, darling," he kissed the curve of her throat, gloriously exposed by the cut of her gown and an elegant up-do, "But I need my wife tonight. I've been working with these people for months and you've yet to be introduced. Some of them are starting to suspect I have you chained to my bed and the majority are ill convinced you even exist. They're beginning to take me for a poof."

Her painted lips twitched into a sly smile; one he suspected had little to do with enjoyment of his joke and much more to do with pride in having avoided the dreariness of her husband's new associates for as long as she had.

"You're right, of course," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder in unspoken amends. "I'm excited to meet them, truly. I'm sure they're lovely."

Draco's rich laughter filled the car and he squeeze her tightly to his side as he often did when she'd say or do something particularly endearing.

"They're dreadful, Hermione. Every last one of them." The car pulled to a stop in front of an overdone home and the blond grinned devilishly as he ushered her out, "Let's drink their champaign, let them get a look at the most beautiful woman in Chicago, and go home to our son."

oOoOo

Draco had planned to keep a low profile in the new country—Muggle population or not, it wasn't truly safe for him to draw too much attention to himself—but Malfoy's were innately pulled to the finer facets of any society and he had soon found himself in league with some very important people. He had robbed his father blind before he fled with Hermione, was handsome and wealthy enough to attract the right kind of attention. Never having had any experience in Muggle industry made finding his niche a difficult task but it turned out he was a rather apt investor no matter what market he did business in.

The Old Money scene in Chicago proved to be a very natural environment for the charismatic young imposter. If Draco had held any doubt that the non-magical sort were just the same as their gifted counterparts, he had to look no further than the city's wealthiest financiers for reassurance. Those men and women were every bit as self-important and bigoted as the finest purebloods the wizarding world had to offer.

He had wanted her to be involved in every part of his life, she even contributed a great deal to their financial endeavors, but worried the company he was keeping would clash unfavorably with her genuineness and integrity. Now, after and few hours of mingling, he knew his apprehension had been misplaced.

Hermione had charmed them into puddles at her tiny feet.

Draco forced back waves of possessiveness as the party's occupants followed his wife's every graceful move, their ears straining to catch every word that passed her upturned lips. The Slytherin prince had always aspired to find a mate who would shine brightly by his side; but Granger was not the faceless pureblood trophy he'd been planning for. She wasn't a rare gem meant for showing off but a one of a kind treasure, so precious, that a man would fair best by hiding her away from envious, would-be thieves.

The girl who had never gone unnoticed; not in the classroom, not in the hearts of other smitten wizards, and certainly not in war.

His brave wife excelled in and conquered every environment she had ever faced. He didn't know why he expected a room full of stuffed shirts to be any different.

"Ready to go, Dove?" he questioned quietly, leaning in to run the strait line of his nose under her jaw when they were blessedly between conversation companions. Surely he could only be expected to tolerate a certain number of men staring brazenly at his wife's breasts—breasts which had nurtured _his_ child—before he was allowed to punch one of them.

She gazed up at him curiously, a breathtaking flutter of long lashes, "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

Hermione had daintily nursed only one flute of drink the entire evening so her playful sparkle told him that the innocent flirting she'd been dishing out was far from unintentional. His girl was an awful little tease, whether a school witch or a muggle socialite.

The smirk that transformed his stately features was significantly less subtle in its mischievousness. "Of course I'm enjoying myself. Your company is second to none," he murmured hotly, his palm smoothing down her slim back to very lowest point that could still be considered seemly in room full of people, "But I'd prefer to take you to my bed than stand here and watch all these men wish they could do the same."

His wife flushed pink but looked positively eager at his suggestion, "Well in that case…" she grinned, pulling him towards the night's hosts to say their goodbyes.

The couple had only made a few steps of progress when Draco's senses were assaulted with a familiar, sickly sweet scent and his path intercepted by a statuesque redhead.

Only a life long education in proper social etiquette gave him the discipline needed to suppress an actual groan.

Vivian Kent was a muggle doppelganger of the Greengrass sisters. She was driven and intelligent, very well educated, but preferred to use her feminine wiles to earn the investor's interest in her company. Her proposal for Draco's financial collaboration had been accompanied by an attempt to drop herself alluringly into his lap and he'd been so shocked by her actions that she found herself promptly thrust to the floor. He had hoped such an embarrassing interaction would cause her to make herself scarce but the woman was exhaustingly persistent.

"Draco! What a surprise," the she gushed, hanging on the arm of her much older husband. The poor bloke looked befuddled from being dragged across the room so quickly and was still chewing a bite from the generous selection of hor d'ourves, "And this is the _Mrs_. Black I've heard so much about?" Vivian asked, as though the subject hadn't come up during Draco's tense muttering of ' _I'm flattered but not interested. I'm a happily married man._ '

Her icy blue eyes examined his love rudely but the younger woman just reflected back a warm smile, "Hermione," she offered, along with her hand.

"Vivian," the burgundy haired vixen barely hid a sneer. Draco had watched her be far kinder to the wives of the rich old men she had ensnared, always playing her cards well, but he guessed that Hermione's youth and beauty rattled her usual modus operandi.

She turned back to him with a flash of stark white teeth and even swooped forward to place her hand on his bicep in a show of familiarity that far exceeded their actual acquaintance. Draco tensed, not a fan of being touched, "Frank and I were just talking about you, weren't we sweetheart? I haven't heard back on that opportunity I called you with last week. Darling, I want so badly for _you_ to be the lucky boy that benefits from this but you simply _must_ act fast," she trilled with a show of bleeding heart indulgence, "I can't hold out on all of the others for much longer!"

Draco smiled thinly. The shrew was out of her mind if she thought he'd waste a single penny on the money pit she'd presented to him. He was comparatively new to the east coast and there were a desperate few who prayed for his ignorance and tried to take advantage of it. The only aspect that made her investment a ' _sure thing'_ was the certainty that he'd lose every dollar loaned.

"I've looked it over, Mrs. Kent, but I don't have the time to discuss it at the moment," he placated instead of the outright rejection he knew she would take poorly. "My wife and I were just about to excuse ourselves. Our son is with a sitter and we miss him terribly."

"Oh, nonsense. I'm sure the boy is fine," Vivian waved him off and mashed her beasts against his side. He could scarcely believe her husband was still managing to look so entirely disinterested. "Hermione, dear… you don't mind if I steal your Draco away for some drab business talk, do you?"

He watched his witch's kind eyes narrow with irritation. In true Granger fashion, she cared not that the other woman was throwing herself at her partner, but was instantly hostile at the implication that she need to step away from conversation she wouldn't be able to understand.

Draco was simultaneously concerned and aroused as she burned with that long repressed fire.

"Not necessary, Vivian," she said sweetly, "Draco already mentioned your investment, and though we sympathize with your plight, we aren't interested."

Kent gaped for several seconds before her face turned the exact same shade as her hair. "My _plight_?"

Hermione nodded sympathetically, "You must be in a terrible pinch. An entire building of high-end condos, in this economy? I couldn't imagine."

"I assure you, there's plenty of interest," the older woman sniffed out the lie.

His lioness lifted a perfectly arched brow, "Oh, well I'm sure you mean to put in some exceptional amenities then. You'll have to in order save yourself the same fate as the _nearly identical_ building on the property _directly across_ from yours. A year post-listing and they're still at sixty percent vacancy… While commendable, Draco and I aren't accustom to taking those types of risks."

The brilliant little Gryffindor appeared so sincere that, had he not known her as well as he knew himself, he might honestly have believed she meant no offense.

Humiliated, Vivian made no attempt to mask her rage, and despite his confidence in his soldier of a wife, Draco found himself squaring protectively in front of her. He felt a cold chill pass through him when Kent's pleasing features twisted vengefully.

"Why, Draco…" she admonished wryly, gaze level on Hermione, "You never told us your wife had an affinity for real estate. Where exactly did you go to school, dear?"

That single question, meant to mortify the twenty-one year old mother who clearly didn't have a traditional muggle secondary education, inflicted far more damage than even intended.

The wizard forgot how to breath as Hermione's small body went tight with confusion, sharp mind searching for an answer that was inaccessible. She was very well educated, of course, highest marks in half a century at the wizarding world's finest learning establishment…but she couldn't remember any of it. Just as he had designed, her thoughts rolled over the lapse and moved on as though the question had never been asked. What Draco knew to be the affects of tenuous spell work, came across as evasiveness when all she responded with was a weak, dazed smile.

"We really need to get home to our-" he tried to end the encounter.

The malicious redhead would have none of it, sensing a chink in the armor, " _Oh no_ … I don't want to miss an opportunity to chat with a fellow _Ivy League_ graduate. Where did you attend, Mrs. Black?"

Hermione became noticeably upset, her head clouded with multiple corrections in what Draco could only suspect was a similar sensation as trying to see through a disorienting fog.

He vaguely heard the other guests begin to chatter with gossip while Vivian continued hounding but he paid attention to none of it as he scooped his shattered wife into his arms and physically carried her from the room. The terrified husband lowered her carefully onto a bench in the entry hall and took her small face between his hands.

Her stare was glassy, frantic… empty.

"Darling, say something. _Please_ ," he begged, nuzzling his forehead against hers to bring her back to him, "Are you alright?"

The whimper that escaped her was one of tangible ache and he felt it shard into his heart as painfully as anything he'd ever felt before.

He'd done this to her.

"I don't know," frustrated tears streaked lines down her pale cheeks. "I don't know anything. _Why don't I know anything_?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry about another delay guys. My two year old tossed a cup of water on my lap top. Thought I lost everything but only needed a new top case. 280$ fix but it was worth it because the computer is a fortune to replace. Second time he's done that, by the way. Any way. New chapter. Drop by tomorrow morning and the next day for additional new chapters. Thanks as always for reading and feedback!_

 _CHAPTER 13_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Chicago, IL._**

Draco jumped up from the bench in the entryway of their home the moment the door opened, his near madness evident by the disarray of his normally impeccable appearance. His pigmentless tresses pulled in endless directions, victim to a rarely indulged nervous habit that had his long fingers running through the terrorized locks all afternoon. His pallor was even more impossibly pale than it's natural porcelain, save for the deep bruise colored marks of lost sleep under each stormy eye.

He had left his post not once since arriving home, not even to change out of his most expensive suit; the fine fabric of the coat was dropped to wrinkle and ruin in a ball on the floor. He had torn off the offensive garment and accompanying tie in a fit of anxious claustrophobia and couldn't be bothered to properly stow it.

He flew to her side as the always beautiful but currently positively ill looking brunette stepped through the door. The much taller male pulled her against him and took on most of her weight.

She gave a surprised yelp at the attack-like aid, "Draco! You terrified me, honestly. How are you home so early? The meeting-"

"Is so unfathomably unimportant compared to the wellbeing of my wife I'm ashamed beyond words you were able to talk me into going in the first place. Hermione, darling, I've been worried sick. I should have gone with you," he groaned, bending his neck to press kisses into rogue curls who's powers of defiance were only made more formidable by the Chicago winds.

Holding her in his arms didn't abate his anguish the way it had his entire adult life. Her weight was alarmingly slight and her frame terrifyingly frail against his strong, healthy build. In recent months the beauty had lost pounds she hadn't the extra to spare and Draco had grown steadily more troubled as his beloved wasted away in front of him.

She had become no less imperative to his existence over their years together and watching her unable to keep food down or sleep comfortably by his side was more painful to him than loosing his mother.

Hermione had been listless and unhinged for months, her temperament sweet and her love for her husband and son as pure and selfless as always but Draco had once again watched the sparkle fade from her golden gaze. He knew what ailed her, even as she struggled to understand her own longings. He know with more and more clarity each year that her soul yearned for her magic and would possibly never feel complete without it. Though he would give his very life for for the remarkable woman, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to give her back her missing birthright.

The guilt simmered inside of him endlessly.

Her subtle sadness had been one thing but the failing of her small, precious body had sent the proud Malfoy male into a tailspin of panic. He had called upon his most important contacts and had gotten her an appointment with one of the most reputable doctors in the country, despite several comments to suggest that such a level of expertise wasn't entirely necessary for her initial evaluation. He needed to know he was putting her in the hands of the best in order to press passed his potent aversion to muggle medicine.

He had been the aghast at their barbaric nature since they had attempted to pierce the flawless skin of his tiny, perfectly healthy infant son with a _needle_ to inject _Merlin only knows_ into the boy's century's perfected blood. However, he had learned to live within his means in this new world and his sweet wife was of muggle breeding—possibly susceptible to illness he knew not of. He would defer to their treatment if it meant his love was restored to her previous health. He'd give absolutely anything in his possession to see her face full and pink again.

She put a hand to his chest and pushed him back a small distance to look up at his face. Her slender hand slid to run along his jaw line tenderly, "You look terrible. Did the meeting not go well?"

" _I_ look terrible?" He barked with a tinge of hysteria, "I honestly couldn't tell you a single word that was said. My mind was with you. I left the moment it was over and I've been sitting her waiting for you-" he looked over her shoulder and his sharp eyes narrowed at time shown on the elaborate grandfather clock in the corner, "You're late, incidentally. Was the driver on time to retrieve you up after your appointment?"

She squirmed at his inquiry, hiding her face like she often did when telling him something unfavorable, "He stayed and waited durning my visit, of course. I just- _well,_ I had to ask him to pull over several times or I would have been sick in the car."

Draco moaned out an awful sound of sorrow at yet another incident of her suffering; a tired, hollow whine, "I never should have let you go alone. Forgive me, Dove."

She gave him a sad smile and patted his cheek, "it was just a check up, Draco. Really," she wrapped her small figures around his and pulled him back to his previous seat, lowering herself and patting the spot beside her. "Where's Alex?"

Draco fought the urge to insist on standing, terrified that she might be seating him for grave news. He was even more upset by the idea that she was sitting simply because she lacked the strength left to stand for any length of time. "I sent him off to his room with his school mate. I wanted to speak to you alone if-" he swallowed hard, unable to bring himself to voice the worst.

She gave him a searching look, the kind that made him feel as though she were prodding the depths of his mind. Her perceptive, honey hued eyes often left him feeling rattled and fearful, petrified that she'd one day some how just _know_ —what he was, what he had done.

"Well, go on then. What did the doctor have to say?" he finally blurted with his heart lodged so firmly in his throat he could scarcely get the words out.

His wife blessed him with the first genuine smile he had seen in weeks and had she not followed it with such outrageous words, he would have kissed the tiny dips in her cheeks that he missed so, so much.

"He said that I'm absolutely fine."

Draco shot to his feet. He hadn't experienced this much directed rage since he had spared his father a final thought years ago and was overwhelmed by the raw intensity of it. The once wrathful Death Eater felt an uncontrolled fury bubble to the surface of his skin, blood that seemed to suddenly _scorch_ its way through his veins rather than flow.

" _Fine?_ Did you tell him that you haven't been able to eat for _weeks_ , Hermione? That you've lost ten pounds in a month? Did he have _eyes_ , this idiot yank? Could he not see that you are as pale as death...My god! _Fine?_ This is _not_ fine!"

"Draco-" she tried to cut in, eyes huge at his explosive reaction. He was gentle with her, always, and his anger was unprecedented in her company. "Please calm down. The doctor said-"

"I couldn't _possibly_ care less what the Doctor said. _Useless muggle quacks_ , the whole lot of them. I'm going to make you right, Hermione," he dropped to his knees in front of her, grey eyes stinging and wet, "I'm going to get you to a real healer. We'll get answers-"

"Draco! Please! The doctor said,"

"You're certainly _not_ fine-"

"I'm _better_ than fine. I'm with child."

Draco tried to tell if there was any hint of cruel jest or, Gods above him, _sincerity_ on his female's face but he could barely see her through a sea of black spots that dotted his vision.

When he had been a child with a child's fragility, he begged his mother to explain why his father was so cold towards everyone, towards _him_ , Narcissa had told him that Malfoy men held back emotion because—contrary to popular belief—they _felt_ more powerfully than other creatures; had passions that were too powerful when allowed at full flame. He believed that now, as residual anger clashed with joy and fear within him so forcefully that he had to fight for consciousness.

" _Draco? Sweetheart, are you alright_ ," his darling wife seemed to yell from an illogically far distance.

As his anger ebbed his mind began to swim. There hadn't been a second Malfoy sibling in close to a century, by design he suspected. There needed to be one male heir—a female would mean the fortune would change names with her marriage—while a second child could see the grand estate split up and the power divided. He knew well of the dark magic that insured the first child begotten to a Malfoy would be born a male, but was left to wonder if a second child was prevented by a similar familial curse or more benign precautions.

They hadn't done much by way of preventing a second pregnancy as their son grew older and as time went by without a happy accident, Draco began to worry that he wouldn't be capable of giving his wife addition children. Neither had mentioned their unexplained infertility but Hermione had been such a wonderful mother to their son, he often longed to see her shine with another child.

His vision focused and he saw the deep worry written across her face. Draco chastised himself for adding to her strain and gathered her small hands into his to help regain his composure.

"I don't understand-" he murmured, "You are so _ill_ , love. It wasn't like this when you were carrying Alexander," his thoughts led him to a horrifying conclusion. His eyes flashed to her perfectly flat belly, "This baby, is there something wrong…"

She smiled reassuringly and shook her head, "I have a condition he called Hyperemesis. It seems to be uncontrollable morning sickness."

"Morning sickness," Draco frowned, "You're sick constantly- did you tell him-"

" _Yes_ , of course," she cut him off, "He said it isn't a usual case of it. He gave me a script that is supposed to help with the nausea but it should clear up by itself when I'm into my second trimester," she relayed, looking extremely hopeful. "I just have to make sure I stay hydrated."

He couldn't remember ever feeling half as relieved or blessed as he did at that moment. Draco released one of her hands so that he could place a large palm over her life-baring belly. She was so thin that his hand nearly ran the span of her narrow waist but his magic reacted to the touch in a way that stunned him. Had he placed his hand there weeks ago and felt so much peace and affection pulling at him from just bellow her skin, he might have guessed that she carried his child.

"So the baby…" he marveled.

She placed her hand over his and gave him a laugh so beautiful it knocked the wind out of him. "Healthy, growing. I got to hear a heart beat. He thinks I'm much father along than I would have thought possible, based on my levels. Eleven weeks," she peeked up at him shyly, "Are you happy?"

" _Ecstatic_ , Hermione," he said honestly but felt like he was under-expressing the extent of his delight. He watched her perfect face carefully before returning her question, "And you… are you alright with this?"

Hermione had been busy earning her muggle secondary degree—with a high school education he had fabricated to make it possible—and he knew how much finishing her education had come to mean to her. The work was easy to an individual of her intellectual brilliance but, true to the bookworm he had coveted when he was a boy, she had a way of piling more and more responsibility onto herself in an effort to feel the challenge she craved.

His brave young wife nodded with a little grin that seemed authentic, "It's a shock but I'm excited. I had hoped that I might have a better handle on my-" she struggled with the words, biting softly on her bottom lip, " _mental health_ , before we had a second baby but what's done is done, for lack of a better expression."

The blonde's heart ached, knowing that the things inside her keen, beautiful mind that didn't feel quiet _right_ to her were of his making.

"I'm going to figure something out," he vowed, meaning it, "I'm going to find away to make you happy again, Hermione, I swear it."

She shook him off with a small wave, not understanding his in-depth grasp on the situation. "I feel happier, even now," she beamed at him, "I love this baby already."

It wasn't the first time Draco felt the words to convey his love for the witch simply didn't exist—that surely no one on earth had ever loved another person this deeply, with this much of their soul—so he did as he always did when langue wasn't enough.

She squealed with joy when he swooped her up into his arms and laughed until his mouth covered hers.

Later that night, as the petite beauty slept more soundly than she had in weeks, he pulled out his wand and held it tenderly near her navel, whispering an incantation as old as his family line.

The knowledge garnered stung his heart, even as it filled him with wonder.

He wished he could tell her how excited he was to meet their daughter.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Chapter 14_**

 ** _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._**

He no longer recognized the man in front of him.

The ghost girl—the one that dwelled in toilets and made brazen, sexually suggestive comments in her loneliness—swirled around him like a gnat; but even her frosty, transparent image held more life and tangibility than the dull grey eyes that gazed back at him from the other side of the filthy mirror. She chattered relentlessly in that horrid, morose drawl of hers, but he could no longer hear her. She clung far too close to him, occasionally crossing through his flesh with her specter hands; and though the sensation of her death bound cold would have tingled the spine of most living beings, he felt nothing. He hadn't experienced warmth in months and an unshakable chill seemed to have settled into his bones and heart to stay.

He was alone, always, no matter how many of his peers surrounded them in their blissful ignorance, but when he was with her, he was more alone than ever and it was a strange comfort to him. For her ability to run all sane souls off and provide him with this secluded first floor refuge in an otherwise stiflingly populated school, she had his gratitude and his silent company.

He was there, but not there. She didn't seem to mind either way.

He had been considered a perfectionist. The other Slytherins, mostly in friendly banter, frequently tittered over his excessive study habits and impeccable neatness in both appearance and habitat. But Draco was not a striver by nature. He had no innate drive to live on baser amounts of sleep in order to read and re-read his class notes and texts. The boy had no psychological fixation with practicing for his Quidditch matches, rain or shine, until his hands where stiff and clawed from holding himself on the bloom for hours passed comfort. He could care less if every last stand of blonde hair was coiffed into perfect alignment.

He _feared_ imperfect only because his father would not tolerate it. There was a predictability to Lucius' scorn and the prideful man was never one to let a slip from his heir go unaddressed.

Now, his father seemed a truly comical caricature of a real villain; a threat inflated by a child's inability to understand or imagine the capability of genuine evil.

He'd seen it now, real evil; had looked into haunting red irises that glinted back at him with the flames of hell. The price of disappointing it was unimaginable suffering.

Draco was terrified. He hoped beyond reason that he'd simply die from the stress of his insurmountable mission before he faced the repercussions of his failure. Unfortunately, his strong adolescent heart beat on traitorously inside his chest.

He had dreamt, longed and fantasized about her in so many ways that when she appeared through the door of his destitute hideout, he assumed immediately that he'd imagined her. His descent into apparent hallucinatory madness just barely managed to alarm him. It seemed reasonably inevitable given his currently levels of mania.

It was only the ghost's explosive reaction to the stunning new comer that confirmed he was indeed looking at the real deal.

"Get out!" Myrtle screeched, scandalized by the girl's intrusion. "You're not welcomed here! _Out!_ " she screeched, possessive over the space and the boy in equal parts.

Her unpleasant voice was down right terrifying when laced with anger but her living counter part merely rolled her eyes.

"Myrtle, so help me God, if you start that with me again I'll burn so much sage in this bathroom you won't be able to come out of that toilet for a year," Granger threatened with an impatience that sounded a match to Draco's fatigue. She seemed acquainted with the resident spook and was not at all frightened like the rest of the populous.

Myrtle did what she was quite infamous for and let out an ear splitting wale of teenage angst as she swirled around the room like a violently deflating balloon before plunging into the plumbing of said waste receptacle.

The grand scene gave Draco a moment to compose himself. If there was one person aside from Potter he'd loath to see him at his lowest, it was this particular witch.

He half raised his wand in her direction, a show of threat without intent, but the formality seemed necessary. She wasn't dangerous when unprovoked like her henchmen; not physically, at least, but she was still no friend of the Slytherin Prince.

"What do you want, mudblood?" He hissed, his tone as lifeless as he felt. "Here on reconnaissance for your boyfriend Potter?"

He'd noticed the idiot boy following him like a noisy, clumsy shadow for weeks; yet another obstacle to tall order pressing down on his already bowing back. It clawed at him, how useless Harry Potter was. Draco might have been one of the _bad guys_ , but it was Potter and all his fallibilities that would fail The Light—fail Hermione—in the end.

He forced himself to look at her but this time he needn't fake the sneer on his handsome face; it was all he could do to keep himself from flinching in pain.

It used to be fun and easy, loving her. She was so beautiful, so thoroughly forbidden in a way that was serious but not dangerous. He couldn't help the adolescent trill of excitement he got from imagining encounters with the unattainable witch. His crush once held innocence and simplicity, escapism from a bleak future he had very little say in.

As his feelings deepened, so did his weariness and an ache that replaced the intrigue. At seventeen Draco would have laid his entire world at her tiny feet if she had been a pureblood-or better yet, if such things didn't matter. But she wasn't, and they did, and he _still_ wanted nothing half as badly as he wanted that girl. Some days he hated her for it.

As he grew more hopelessly ensnared each year by the group of man men that wanted to see his beautiful creature eradicated from the face of the planet, his affection for her became nothing but a source of indescribable agony.

She gazed at him with dark eyes and a confusion that looked amiss across features that normally shined with intelligent insight. Hermione didn't react to the slur or his acid and he wondered with some concern how she could tell so easily that he'd never truly harm her.

He hadn't encountered a single muggle-born student in the corridors since the start of term aside from this fearless angel who still shoved past him daily with her chin held high. They flocked away from the rumored Death Eater with an admirable ability to evade.

"Harry believes you are up to something, _yes_ ," she didn't mince words. Her head cocked slightly as she took him in, "but I rather think you are going _through_ something."

He tried to laugh at the irony but couldn't seem to remember how. The sound came out sound came out jagged as sandpaper and half strangled.

Of course the trio would notice his mental deterioration while all of those "close" to him either couldn't see it or did not care. He didn't blame or resent them for it, as Slytherins were hardly the types to form support groups. Both Granger and her pet were correct to extents even they were surely underestimating.

"How Hufflepuff of you, Granger," he sneered, "Did you think you could catch me in the ladies loo so we could have a chat about our feelings?"

Again, she was so unaffected by his aggression that it unsettled him. Here she was, a five foot nothing slip of a girl and the infamous muggle-born right hand of his enemy. The damnable witch was alone with the son of a known Death Eater and didn't even have her wand out. Despite her years by Potter's side she still had little grasp on the dangers to come-and the very real dangers that were already there. Draco worried about her fate as often as he worried about his own. How did someone so pure stand a chance in a world so sordid and filthy?

She stepped further into the lavatory, making it clear she would not be run out by ghost nor wizard, but still gave him a wide birth. "I know what they are doing to you...what they want you to be. It doesn't have to be this way-"

"You don't know _anything_ , you stupid, simple girl," he snarled at her-because it was true-and felt a lump of emotion jam in his throat when her beautiful features recoiled.

"Dumbledore can help you," she pressed on bravely, "he can keep you and your mother safe while your fathers-" she cut off, leaving him to wonder what she'd meant to say.

While your father is in Azkaban? While he's busy choosing an evil despot over his wife and child? While he's stark-raving mad, dwindling the family fortunes on a campaign of murder?

"I seriously doubt that Granger, my mums been dead for months."

He didn't know why he'd told her that. He'd informed not a single other soul and Snape was the only one in the castle that knew about the Malfoy matriarch's murder. The less people he told the more often he was able to go days at a time, pretending she was still safe and alive at the manor.

Hermione gasped, _gasped_ , like the blessed, innocent thing she was; to still be shocked by the death of a stranger.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, and it didn't surprise him at all that she seemed to mean it from the bottom of her bleeding heart, "I hadn't heard."

"Yes well, her type of death doesn't make the Daily Profit as of late," he said pointedly.

She studied him close, tossing over the meaning of his words before using her exceptional mind to understand what he was implying. Narcissia had not died in a way that would suit the Dark Lord if investigated. Draco had buried her alone in the family plots behind the estate.

"I won't tell anyone," she said softly, coming too close. "But that only proves my point. You aren't safe," she stressed, "let us help you."

His agitation reached new bounds. He felt at once like the world was conspiring to tease him into madness; to dangle in front of him that which he wanted most but could never possibly have. Draco couldn't fathom how much more he had to loose until he was allowed to snap.

"I'm a Malfoy and a Slytherin. We do not bet our coin on the underdogs and we certainly won't be waging our lives as such," he seethed, moving toward her. She was brave and stood perfectly still but he could see the apprehension in her tightly clenched jaw. Her tiny fingers twitched at her side, longing for her wand but he was too close and it was to late for that, "It would be much improved to spend your time wondering who will be protecting _you_ , mudblood."

"Stop calling me that," she waved her hand around them, glancing at the neglected room, "there's no one here to posture to. None of your little mates around to laugh at me this time."

He grinned at her cruelly, "I would be doing you no favors by withholding that label now. You think it's a joke? A mean little taunt between children," he was looming over her now and he was glad she was scared. She needed to be. "People will be slaughtered by the thousands because they are what you are."

He had never been this near her before, only in the safely of his fantasies, nor had they spoken so many words during a single encounter. Draco ignored her fear and soaked in every detail. Her irises weren't really brown at all, for those blessed with proximity to the girl, they sparkled the most incredible gold. He lifted this arm to touch a single lock of her beautiful hair and realized with horror that his vision was blurring at how _right_ it felt to hold even this small part of her. Her breath fanned delicately against his wrist, as quick as a rabbit.

"So next time that accent fool orders you, from the comfort his password protected office, to play siren in order to turn a lonely Death Eater into his renegade," he guessed softly, knowing he was correct by the widening of her corneas, "remember who's lovely little neck is really on the line."

He ran a pale finger down the slender throat in question and felt her pulse hammering against his touch with the speed of sheer terror.

"It's not a threat, Granger. Merely a warning," the boy promised her with a sigh, trying to ease her upset.

But it seemed that fear for her own life wasn't what rattled her. She shook her head, "Is that what you are then?" she breathed, "A Death Eater?"

The disappointment that flitted across her face knocked the air from his lungs. He shouldn't have dared to answer that question, it was much better to leave them to their guessing games, but just this once he longed to tell her what she wanted to hear. He pulled his robe sleeve, loose as it was with too much lost weight, and exposed nothing but porcelain flesh.

"I haven't been granted the mark, if that's what you mean," he watched perceptively as relief brought color back into her cheeks, "but you'll find out soon enough that the worst of the scars that shape us can not be seen by pretty golden eyes," he cautioned before stepping back and retreating from her entirely.

He swore he could hear her mind racing behind his back. She was't the type to shy away from a challenge but she wouldn't win this time. It was too late to change his course. He only hoped she'd have the preservation to save her own.

"You are not a kind man, Draco," she said softy. The wonderful sound of his name on her lips negated by the sting of her very true words, "but you are _not_ evil."

He felt her small hand press timidly upon his shoulder. Her touch felt all at like the only real comfort he'd had in his entire miserable life. The boy was incredibly glad to have her behind him as he realized the beads of water hitting the stones at his feet were burning tears searing down his face.

"I've been trying to tell Harry that for months… but perhaps he's not the only one that needs convincing."

 **Thanks for reading and/or feedback, guys! Really appreciate everyone who's giving this little story your time.**


	15. Chapter 15

_CHAPTER 14_

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 ** _Chicago, IL._**

He'd been following her for days but the unbridled emotion that sat like a stone of hot lead on his chest hadn't lessened for even the shortest of moments. It was perhaps this feeling—the _exhilaration_ , the heady, inescapable _sorrow_ , and the _ecstasy_ at seeing the light at the end of a decade of suffering—which kept him from rushing to her the second he'd found her again. It was an unsustainable mixture of intensity that threatened to turn into unstoppable sobs with little or no warning.

Instead, he watched.

She was so incredibly beautiful it blew him away. So, so different but still so much _their_ _'Mione_ , even after all those years. He'd dreamed of that face—those soft features, that kind smile, those hopeless curls—almost every night since she'd been pried away from them. He longed for his best friend, his sister, for nearly a decade after the others had written her off as another casualty of the war.

Finding her provided almost zero answers at first but for days, he needed nothing further than the ability to see _that_ face—beautiful and alive.

She was happy, he could tell. He waited for the feelings of betrayal to sneak up inside of him at the sight of her healthy and content, but they never came. How could he blame her for staying safe and whole a half a world away? The years of war had lost him friends, his innocence, his sanity, and—several times over—nearly his life. This is where he would have wanted her, he decided, if he had been able to control the stubborn, wonderful girl that for so long had been insistent on fighting and dying by his side.

If, during days of death and killing, he could have picked a place to picture his most cherished friend, surely this would have been it. If he had known she had found this reprieve, Gods, he would have been able to sleep at night all those years he'd mourned her loss.

Hermione was an absolute vision at twenty-seven years old. She was pregnant, he noted with surprise; even without the gently rounded belly she was _glowing_ to his biased eyes. He wondered how the people going about their routines around her could do anything except stare at the stunning woman that literally _glowed_ as she walked— extraordinary, through a sea of nothing special.

She used no magic in those days of his surveillance, an anomaly that vexed him. Her home was teeming with magic. There were so many wards that he hadn't been able to get within a _square block_ of the place without being detected.

His brilliant friend was the embodiment of the foreign city's socialites and clearly well cared for. She was escorted by a driver to and from a very pricy part of town. She dressed modestly in clothes that only whispered of their great expense with visible quality; elegant but so very much the practical girl he loved.

He followed her driver every night for a week and watched her walk in and out of evening classes, a huge stack of books held tightly across her chest like a shield from the area's famous winds. When he focused his green eyes _just_ on the young woman, ignored all else around them a saw only his 'Mione marching across campus with far too many books, the innocent nostalgia of the scene had hot tears running unchecked down his war scarred cheeks.

He let himself feel them, the first happy tears he had shed over Hermione Granger in nearly ten years, endlessly grateful for the protection of his invisibility cloak.

The few that had survived did so with deep pains, both physical and psychological, but Merlin, she was perfect.

The huge diamond on her finger did not go unseen. He wondered about the man that had put it there; whether he deserved her, whether he loved her enough and knew that the woman he had adorned with that ostentatious stone was worth it ten fold.

Then, there were things that didn't feel right at all.

Hermione was an extraordinary witch and a force as a solider, even when she had been a young girl. Alarm bells went off in his head as the days passed and her intuition hadn't caught on to his presence. She had once been their leader in skill and perception. He was frightened by how long he had been tracking her without her knowledge.

And her magic. He felt barely a single drop of it anywhere on her.

He was a Head Auror now and had grown into a man as the leader of a violent rebellion. His love for Hermione was only able to blind him for a few days before he began to feel tendrils of dread creep in to ruin his rose-colored first impression.

It wasn't until the sixth day, a Saturday, that he first learned that Hermione had a son.

It was in an upscale muggle grocery store where he first got a good look at the boy. He was no older than eight and a remarkably beautiful child but the outsider felt as though he had been hit by an Unforgivable the moment the boy turned in his direction.

Hermione's child looked identical to his father.

There had been rumors, with the two having disappeared from the war at the same time, but Lucius Malfoy had confessed to the murder of his own son for insubordination against his Dark Lord and few had questioned the volatile Death Eater's ability to do the unthinkable. Most widely accepted was a scenario that had the Snatchers that had picked up The Golden Trio doubling back to Malfoy Manor with reinforcements to secure the bounty Bellatrix had sought to rob them of. With nothing to contest the theory but the body of the Lestranges, and years of instability that prevented a formal investigation, Hermione Granger's death was only legend.

But if she hadn't been killed or set free…If she had been _taken_ …

He didn't know if anyone had seen him remove his cloak, he hadn't realized he had taken it off at all until he was already _there_ in front of her; eyes glossy and deranged with his horrible realization. He had no plan, no words prepared. He just had to _know_.

He had, of course, expected her to recognize him.

But she didn't.

He was one of the most powerful wizards in the Ministry's new order and, not yet thirty, was the uncontested Head of Magical Defense. He knew farce. He knew when someone was pretending or glamoured or polyjuiced. The wizarding officer could read minds, could probe strait into one's inner most thoughts.

Those golden eyes were exactly as he remembered them, except they held no warmth for him at all. As she took him in with thinly veiled fear, she managed a brave step in front of her boy.

" _Hermione_ ," he breathed, helpless to stop himself.

His childhood best friend stared at him blankly but her body relaxed some at the sound of her name. Still, there was no familiarity, only politely hidden confusion. With that vacant gaze the final portion of his heart—the small, unblemished corner that he'd saved faithfully for her return—shattered and withered to join the rest of his broken pieces.

"Hello-" she said carefully, her voice lapping over him like the auditory embodiment of the time he'd know family, love, and peace. "I'm sorry, I don't-" she stuttered softly.

He was scaring her, he realized. That had never been his intention. He was nothing but an unpredictable stranger to her. There would be no healing reunion.

Hermione's memory had been wiped completely.

He didn't look at the boy, could barely curb the rage building in the pit of his gut without seeing those ancestral eyes and the tell tale hair that belonged to generations of murders and corruptors.

He pushed away stands of the messy, jet-black hair that had fallen over his eyes, composing himself, but just barely. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," the man thought quickly, "We only met once, you probably don't remember me. I'm a friend of your husband's."

His beautiful friend gave him a smile that was once familiar, "Oh, you know Draco! I'm so sorry, I'm not great with faces."

That name was all the conformation he needed. Unable to control his reaction, he turned on his heels and raced away from the poorly conceived encounter, casting a silent spell in his wake.

"Mom…" his enhanced hearing picked up the boy's uneasy drawl.

"Yes, well… that was _odd_ ," Hermione's tone held only slightly more confidence. "Maybe we shouldn't tell your father about that. You know how he worries."

As Harry Potter found a quiet alleyway to re-cloak and disapparate, he vowed to make every last one of Draco Malfoy's nightmares a reality.


End file.
